Then,  for  a  moment,  silence  and  the  ticking  of  the  clocks. 

See  f>age  262. 


*^<^^ 


BARREL 

OF   THE 
BLESSED    ISLES 


B  Y 
IRVING     BACHELLER 

n 

AUTHOR   OF 

EBEN  HOLDEN 
D'RI  AND   I 
CANDLE-LIGHT,    Etc. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 
ARTHUR   I.  KELLER 


BOSTON,       LOTHROP 
PUBLISHING     COMPANY 


<5fr»*^ 


ENTERED     AT 

STATIONERS'  HALL 


NortoooD 

J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


@ 


To  the  Memory 
of  my  Father 


M15563 


PREFACE 

THE  author  has  tried  to  give  some  history 
of  that  uphill  road,  traversing  the  rough  back 
country,  through  which  men  of  power  came 
once  into  the  main  highways,  dusty,  timid,  foot 
sore,  and  curiously  old-fashioned.  Now  is  the 
up  grade  eased  by  scholarships ;  young  men 
labour  with  the  football  instead  of  the  buck-saw, 
and  wear  high  collars,  and  travel  on  a  Pullman 
car,  and  dally  with  slang  and  cigarettes  in  the 
smoking-room.  Altogether  it  is  a  new  Re 
public,  and  only  those  unborn  shall  know  if  it 
be  greater. 

The  man  of  learning  and  odd  character  and 
humble  life  was  quite  familiar  once,  and  not 
only  in  Hillsborough.  Often  he  was  born  out 
of  time,  loving  ideals  of  history  and  too  severe 
with  realities  around  him.  In  Barrel  it  is 
sought  to  portray  a  force  held  in  fetters  and 
covered  with  obscurity,  yet  strong  to  make  its 


PREFACE 

way  and  widely  felt.  His  troubles  granted, 
one  may  easily  concede  his  character,  and  his 
troubles  are,  mainly,  no  fanciful  invention. 
There  is  good  warrant  for  them  in  the  court 
record  of  a  certain  case,  together  with  the 
inference  of  a  great  lawyer  who  lived  a  time 
in  its  odd  mystery.  The  author,  it  should  be 
added,  has  given  success  to  a  life  that  ended 
in  failure.  He  cares  not  if  that  success  be 
unusual  should  any  one  be  moved  to  think  it 
within  his  reach. 

A  man  of  rugged  virtues  and  good  fame 
once  said :  "  The  forces  that  have  made  me  ? 
Well,  first  my  mother,  second  my  poverty, 
third  Felix  Holt.  That  masterful  son  of  George 
Eliot  became  an  ideal  of  my  youth,  and  uncon 
sciously  I  began  to  live  his  life." 

It  is  well  that  the  boy  in  the  book  was  nobler 
than  any  who  lived  in  Treby  Magna. 

As  to  "the  men  of  the  dark,"  they  have  long 
afflicted  a  man  living  and  well  known  to  the 
author  of  this  tale,  who  now  commits  it  to  the 
world  hoping  only  that  these  poor  children  of 
his  brain  may  deserve  kindness  if  not  approval. 

NEW  YORK  CITY, 
March,  1903. 


CONTENTS 


PRELUDR         ....... 

PAGE 

CHAPTER 

I. 

The  Story  of  the  Little  Red  Sleigh     . 

-           O 

II. 

The  Crystal  City  and  the  Traveller     . 

•            17 

III. 

The  Clock  Tinker      .        .      '  .' 

IV. 

The  Uphill  Road        .        .  ~':>  .        . 

V. 

At  the  Sign  o'  the  Dial      .' 

•           38 

VI. 

A  Certain  Rich  Man  . 

61 

VII. 

Darrel  of  the  Blessed  Isles 

VIII. 

Dust  of  Diamonds  in  the  Hour-glass  . 

•      79 

IX. 

Drove  and  Drovers     .     '  •  %'  "'  j: 

•      91 

X. 

An  Odd  Meeting        . 

.       100 

XI. 

The  Old  Rag  Doll      .... 

.     105 

XII. 

The  Santa  Claus  of  Cedar  Hill   . 

.     119 

XIII. 

A  Christmas  Adventure 

.     132 

XIV. 

A  Day  at  the  Linley  Schoolhouse 

.     146 

XV. 

The  Tinker  at  Linley  School      . 

.     1  60 

XVI. 

A  Rustic  Museum       .... 

.     165 

XVII. 

An  Event  in  the  Rustic  Museum 

.     179 

•XVIII. 

A  Day  of  Difficulties  .... 

.     187 

XIX. 

Amusement  and  Learning  . 

.       201 

XX. 

At  the  Theatre  of  the  Woods      . 

•      213 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXI.  Robin's  Inn. 

XXII.  Comedies  of  Field  and  Dooryard 

XXIII.  A  New  Problem    . 

XXIV.  Beginning  the  Book  of  Trouble 

XXV.  The  Spider  Snares 

XXVI.  The  Coming  of  the  Cars 

XXVII.  The  Rare  and  Costly  Cup     . 

XXVIII.  Barrel  at  Robin's  Inn   . 

XXIX.  Again  the  Uphill  Road 

XXX.  Evidence      .... 

XXXI.  A  Man  Greater  than  his  Trouble 

XXXII.  The  Return  of  Thurst  Tilly  . 

XXXIII.  The  White  Guard 

XXXIV.  More  Evidence      . 

XXXV.  At  the  Sign  of  the  Golden  Spool 

XXXVI.  The  Law's  Approval     . 

XXXVII.  The  Return  of  Santa  Claus   . 


242 
256 
265 
270 

277 
288 
294 
310 

319 
338 
346 
354 
365 
375 
39° 
403 


BARREL 

OF   THE 
BLESSED   ISLES 


12  DARREL 

speed  them  !  —  it  is  a  long  tale,  and  you  may 
listen  far  into  the  night. 

"  See  the  big  pines  there  in  the  dale  yon 
der?"  some  one  will  ask.  "Well,  Theron 
Allen  lived  there,  an'  across  the  pond,  that's 
where  the  moss  trail  came  out  and  where 
you  see  the  cow-path  —  that's  near  the  track 
of  the  little  red  sleigh." 

Then  —  the  tale  and  its  odd  procession 
coming  out  of  the  far  past. 


I 

The  Story  of  the  Little  Red  Sleigh 


T  was  in  1835,  about  mid 
winter,  when  Brier  Dale  was 
a  narrow  clearing,  and  the 
horizon  well  up  in  the  sky  and 
to  anywhere  a  day's  journey. 
Down  by  the  shore  of  the  pond,  there,  Allen 
built  his  house.  To-day,  under  thickets  of  tansy, 
one  may  see  the  rotting  logs,  and  there  are 
hollyhocks  and  catnip  in  the  old  garden.  He 
was  from  Middlebury,  they  say,  and  came  west 
—  he  and  his  wife  —  in  '29.  From  the  top  of 
the  hill  above  Allen's,  of  a  clear  day,  one  could 
look  far  across  the  tree- tops,  over  distant  settle 
ments  that  were  as  blue  patches  in  the  green 
canopy  of  the  forest,  over  hill  and  dale  to 
the  smoky  chasm  of  the  St.  Lawrence  thirty 
miles  north.  The  Aliens  had  not  a  child ; 
they  settled  with  no  thought  of  school  or 
13 


•i4  BARREL 

neighbour.  They  brought  a  cow  with  them 
and  a  big  collie  whose  back  had  been  scarred 
by  a  lynx.  He  was  good  company  and  a  brave 
hunter,  this  dog ;  and  one  day  —  it  was  Feb 
ruary,  four  years  after  their  coming,  and  the 
snow  lay  deep  —  he  left  the  dale  and  not  even 
a  track  behind  him.  Far  and  wide  they  went 
searching,  but  saw  no  sign  of  him.  Near  a 
month  later,  one  night,  past  twelve  o'clock, 
they  heard  his  bark  in  the  distance.  Allen 
rose  and  lit  a  candle  and  opened  the  door. 
They  could  hear  him  plainer,  and  now,  min 
gled  with  his  barking,  a  faint  tinkle  of  bells. 

It  had  begun  to  thaw,  and  a  cold  rain  was 
drumming  on  roof  and  window. 

"  He's  crossing  the  pond,"  said  Allen,  as 
he  listened.  "  He's  dragging  some  heavy 
thing  over  the  ice." 

Soon  he  leaped  in  at  the  door,  the  little  red 
sleigh  bouncing  after  him.  The  dog  was  in 
shafts  and  harness.  Over  the  sleigh  was  a 
tiny  cover  of  sail-cloth  shaped  like  that  of  a 
prairie  schooner.  Bouncing  over  the  door-step 
had  waked  its  traveller,  and  there  was  a  loud 
voice  of  complaint  in  the  little  cavern  of  sail- 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  15 

cloth.  Peering  in,  they  saw  only  the  long 
fur  of  a  gray  wolf.  Beneath  it  a  very  small 
boy  lay  struggling  with  straps  that  held  him 
down.  Allen  loosed  them  and  took  him  out 
of  the  sleigh,  a  ragged  but  handsome  young 
ster  with  red  cheeks  and  blue  eyes  and  light, 
curly  hair.  He  was  near  four  years  of  age 
then,  but  big  and  strong  as  any  boy  of  five. 
He  stood  rubbing  his  eyes  a  minute,  and  the 
dog  came  over  and  licked  his  face,  showing 
fondness  acquired  they  knew  not  where.  Mrs. 
Allen  took  the  boy  in  her  lap  and  petted  him, 
but  he  was  afraid  —  like  a  wild  fawn  that  has 
just  been  captured  —  and  broke  away  and,  took 
refuge  under  the  bed.  A  long  time  she  sat 
by  her  bedside  with  the  candle,  showing  him 
trinkets  and  trying  to  coax  him  out.  He 
ceased  to  cry  when  she  held  before  him  a 
big,  shiny  locket  of  silver,  and  soon  his  little 
hand  came  out  to  grasp  it.  Presently  she 
began  to  reach  his  confidence  with  sugar. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  strange 
words  came  out  of  his  hiding-place.  "Anah 
jouhan  "  was  all  they  could  make  of  them,  and 
they  remembered  always  that  odd  combination 


16  BARREL 

of  sounds.  They  gave  him  food,  which  he  ate 
with  eager  haste.  Then  a  moment  of  silence 
and  an  imperative  call  for  more  in  some  strange 
tongue.  When  at  last  he  came  out  of  his 
hiding-place,  he  fled  from  the  woman.  This 
time  he  sought  refuge  between  the  knees  of 
Allen,  where  soon  his  fear  gave  way  to  curi 
osity,  and  he  began  to  feel  her  face  and  gown. 
By  and  by  he  fell  asleep. 

They  searched  the  sleigh  and  shook  out  the 
robe  and  blanket,  finding  only  a  pair  of  warm 
bricks. 

A  Frenchman  worked  for  the  Aliens  that 
winter,  and  the  name,  Trove,  was  of  his  inven 
tion. 

And  so  came  Sidney  Trove,  his  mind  in 
strange  fetters,  travelling  out  of  the  land  of 
mystery,  in  a  winter  night,  to  Brier  Dale. 


II 


The  Crystal  City  and  the   Traveller 


HE  wind,  veering,  came  bitter 
cold ;  the  rain  hardened  to 
hail ;  the  clouds,  changed  to 
brittle  nets  of  frost,  and  shaken 
to  shreds  by  the  rough  wind, 
fell  hissing  in  a  scatter  of  snow.  Next 
morning  when  Allen  opened  his  door  the 
wind  was  gone,  the  sky  clear.  Brier  Pond, 
lately  covered  with  clear  ice,  lay  under  a 
blanket  of  snow.  He  hurried  across  the  pond, 
his  dog  following.  Near  the  far  shore  was  a 
bare  spot  on  the  ice  cut  by  one  of  the  sleigh- 
runners.  Up  in  the  woods,  opposite,  was  the 
Moss  Trail.  Sunlight  fell  on  the  hills  above 
him.  He  halted,  looking  up  at  the  tree-tops. 
Twig,  branch,  and  trunk  glowed  with  the  fire  of 
diamonds  through  a  lacy  flecking  of  hoar  frost. 
Every  tree  had  put  on  a  jacket  of  ice  and 
17 


i 8  BARREL 

become  as  a  fountain  of  prismatic  hues.  Here 
and  there  a  dead  pine  rose  like  a  spire  of 
crystal ;  domes  of  deep-coloured  glass  and 
towers  of  jasper  were  as  the  landmarks  of  a 
city.  Allen  climbed  the  shore,  walking  slowly. 
He  could  see  no  track  of  sleigh  or  dog  or  any 
living  thing.  A  frosted,  icy  tangle  of  branches 
arched  the  trail  —  a  gateway  of  this  great, 
crystal  city  of  the  woods.  He  entered,  listening 
as  he  walked.  Branches  of  hazel  and  dogwood 
were  like  jets  of  water  breaking  into  clear, 
halted  drops  and  foamy  spray  above  him.  He 
went  on,  looking  up  at  this  long  sky-window  of 
the  woods.  In  the  deep  silence  he  could  hear 
his  heart  beating. 

"  Sport,"  said  he  to  the  dog,  "  show  me  the 
way ;  "  but  the  dog  only  wagged  his  tail. 

Allen  returned  to  the  house. 

"  Wife,"  said  he,  "  look  at  the  woods  yonder. 
They  are  like  the  city  of  holy  promise.  *  Be 
hold  I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colours  and 
thy  foundations  with  sapphires,  and  I  will  make 
thy  windows  of  agate.'  " 

"  Did  you  find  the  track  of  the  little  sleigh  ?  " 
said  she. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  19 

"No,"  he  answered,  "nor  will  any  man,  for 
all  paths  are  hidden." 

"  Theron  —  may  we  keep  the  boy?"  she 
inquired. 

"  I  think  it  is  the  will  of  God,"  said  Allen. 

The  boy  grew  and  throve  in  mind  and  body. 
For  a  time  he  prattled  in  a  language  none  who 
saw  him  were  able  to  comprehend.  But  he 
learned  English  quickly  and  soon  forgot  the 
jargon  of  his  babyhood.  The  shadows  of 
mystery  that  fell  over  his  coming  lengthened 
far  into  his  life  and  were  deepened  by  others 
that  fell  across  them.  Before  he  could  have 
told  the  story,  all  memory  of  whom  he  left  or 
whence  he  came  had  been  swept  away.  It  was 
a  house  of  riddles  where  Allen  dwelt  —  a  rude 
thing  of  logs  and  ladders  and  a  low  roof  and 
two  rooms.  Yet  one  ladder  led  high  to  glories 
no  pen  may  describe.  The  Aliens,  with  this 
rude  shelter,  found  delight  in  dreams  of  an  eter 
nal  home  whose  splendour  and  luxury  would 
have  made  them  miserable  here  below.  What 
a  riddle  was  this !  And  then,  as  to  the  boy  Sid, 
there  was  the  riddle  of  his  coming,  and  again 
that  of  his  character,  which  latter  was,  indeed, 


20  DARREL 

not  easy  to  solve.  There  were  few  books  and 
no  learning  in  that  home.  For  three  winters 
Trove  tramped  a  trail  to  the  schoolhouse  two 
miles  away,  and  had  no  further  schooling  until 
he  was  a  big,  blond  boy  of  fifteen,  with  red 
cheeks,  and  eyes  large,  blue,  and  discerning,  and 
hands  hardened  to  the  axe  helve.  He  had  then 
discovered  the  beauty  of  the  woods  and  begun 
to  study  the  wild  folk  that  live  in  holes  and 
thickets.  He  had  a  fine  face.  You  would  have 
called  him  handsome,  but  not  they  among 
whom  he  lived.  With  them  handsome  was  as 
handsome  did,  and  the  face  of  a  man,  if  it  were 
cleanly,  was  never  a  proper  cause  of  blame  or 
compliment.  But  there  was  that  in  his  soul, 
which  even  now  had  waked  the  mother's  wonder 
and  set  forth  a  riddle  none  were  able  to  solve. 


Ill 

The  Clock  Tinker 


r 


HE  harvesting  was  over  in 
Brier  Dale.  It  was  near  din 
ner-time,  and  Allen,  Trove,  and 
the  two  hired  men  were  trying 

feats  in  the  dooryard.     Trove, 

then  a  boy  of  fifteen,  had  outdone  them  all 
at  the  jumping.  A  stranger  came  along,  riding 
a  big  mare  with  a  young  filly  at  her  side. 
He  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  past  middle  age, 
with  a  red,  smooth-shaven  face  and  long,  gray 
hair  that  fell  to  his  rolling  collar.  He  turned  in 
at  the  gate.  A  little  beyond  it  his  mare  halted 
for  a  mouthful  of  grass.  The  stranger  unslung 
a  strap  that  held  a  satchel  to  his  side  and  hung 
it  on  the  pommel. 

"Go  and  ask  what  we  can  do  for  him,"  Allen 
whispered  to  the  boy. 

Trove  went  down  the  drive,  looking  up  at  him 
curiously. 


22  BARREL 

"What  can  I  do  for  you  ? "  he  inquired. 

"Give  me  thy  youth,"  said  the  stranger, 
quickly,  his  gray  eyes  twinkling  under  silvered 
brows. 

The  boy,  now  smiling,  made  no  answer. 

"No?"  said  the  man,  as  he  came  on  slowly. 
"  Well,  then,  were  thy  wit  as  good  as  thy  legs 
it  would  be  o'  some  use  to  me." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  dignity  in  a 
deep,  kindly  tone.  They  were  also  faintly 
salted  with  Irish  brogue. 

He  approached  the  men,  all  eyes  fixed  upon 
him  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Have  ye  ever  seen  a  drunken  sailor  on  a 
mast  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Allen. 

"No." 

"Well,  sor,"  said  the  stranger,  dismounting 
slowly,  "  I  am  not  that.  Let  me  consider  — • 
have  ye  ever  seen  a  cocoanut  on  a  plum  tree  ? " 

"  I  believe  not,"  said  Allen,  laughing. 

"Well,  sor,  that  is  more  like  me.  'Tis  long 
since  I  rode  a  horse,  an'  am  out  o'  place  in  the 
saddle." 

He  stood  erect  with  dignity,  a  smile  deepen 
ing  the  many  lines  in  his  face. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  23 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  Allen  asked. 

"  Ay  —  cure  me  o'  poverty  —  have  ye  any 
clocks  to  mend  ?  " 

"  Clocks  !     Are  you  a  tinker  ?  "  said  Allen. 

"  I  am,  sor,  an'  at  thy  service.  Could  beauty, 
me  lord,  have  better  commerce  than  with  hon 
esty  ? " 

They  all  surveyed  him  with  curiosity  and 
amusement  as  he  tied  the  mare. 

All  had  begun  to  laugh.  His  words  came 
rapidly  on  a  quick  undercurrent  of  good  nature. 
A  clock  sounded  the  stroke  of  midday. 

"What,  ho!  The  clock,"  said  he,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "  Thy  time  hath  a  lagging  foot. 
Marry,  were  I  that  slow,  sor,  I'd  never  get  to 
Heaven." 

"Mother,"  said 'Allen,  going  to  the  door 
step,  "here  is  a  tinker,  and  he  says  the  clock 
is  slow." 

"It  seems  to  be  out  of  order,"  said  his  wife, 
coming  to  the  step. 

"  Seems,  madam,  nay,  it  is,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Did  ye  mind  the  stroke  of  it  ? " 

"  No,"  said  she. 

"  Marry,  'twas  like  the  call  of  a  dying  man." 


24  DARREL 

Allen  thought  a  moment  as  he  whittled. 

"Had  I  such  a  stroke  on  me  I'd  —  I'd  think 
I  was  parralyzed,"  the  stranger  added. 

"  You'd  better  fix  it  then,"  said  Allen. 

"  Thou  art  wise,  good  man,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Mind  the  two  hands  on  the  clock  an'  keep 
them  to  their  pace  or  they'll  beckon  thee  to 
poverty." 

The  clock  was  brought  to  the  door-step  and 
all  gathered  about  him  as  he  went  to  work. 

"  Ye  know  a  power  o'  scripter,"  said  one  of 
the  hired  men. 

"  Scripter,"  said  the  tinker,  laughing.  "  I 
do,  sor,  an'  much  of  it  according  to  the  good 
Saint  William.  Have  ye  never  read  Shake 
speare  ? " 

None  who  sat  before  him  knew  anything  of 
the  immortal  bard. 

"  He  writ  a  book  'bout  Dan'l  Boone  an'  the 
Injuns,"  a  hired  man  ventured. 

" '  Angels  an'  ministers  o'  grace  defend  us  !  " 
the  tinker  exclaimed. 

Trove  laughed. 

"  I'll  give  ye  a  riddle,"  said  the  tinker,  turn 
ing  to  him. 


cf  the  BLESSED    ISLES  25 

"  How  is  it  the  clock  can  keep  a  sober  face  ?  " 

"  It  has  no  ears,"  Trove  answered. 

"  Right,"  said  the  old  tinker,  smiling.  "  Thou 
art  a  knowing  youth.  Read  Shakespeare,  boy 
—  a  little  of  him  three  times  a  day  for  the 
mind's  sake.  I've  travelled  far  in  lonely  places 
and  needed  no  other  company." 

"  Ever  in  India  ? "  Trove  inquired.  He  had 
been  reading  of  that  far  land. 

"  I  was,  sor,"  the  stranger  continued,  rubbing 
a  wheel.  "  I  was  five  years  in  India,  sor,  an' 
part  o'  the  time  fighting  as  hard  as  ever  a  man 
could  fight." 

"  Fighting  !  "  said  Trove,  much  interested. 

"  I  was,  sor,"  he  asserted,  oiling  a  pinion  of 
the  old  clock. 

"On  which  side?" 

"Inside  an'  outside." 

"With  natives?" 

"  I  did,  sor ;  three  kinds  o'  them,  —  fever, 
fleas,  an'  the  divvle." 

"  Give  us  some  more  Shakespeare,"  said  the 
boy,  smiling. 

The  tinker  rubbed  his  spectacles  thought 
fully,  and,  as  he  resumed  his  work,  a  sound- 


26  BARREL 

ing  flood  of  tragic  utterance  came  out  of  him 
—  the  great  soliloquies  of  Hamlet  and  Mac 
beth  and  Richard  III  and  Lear  and  Antony, 
all  said  with  spirit  and  appreciation.  The  job 
finished,  they  bade  him  put  up  for  dinner. 

"  A  fine  colt !  "  said  Allen,  as  they  were  on 
their  way  to  the  stable. 

"  It  is,  sor,"  said  the  tinker,  "  a  most  excel 
lent  breed  o'  horses." 

"Where  from?" 

"The  grandsire  from  the  desert  of  Arabia, 
where  Allah  created  the  horse  out  o'  the  south 
wind.  See  the  slender  flanks  of  the  Barbary  ? 
See  her  eye  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  talk  in  that  odd  strain  for  the 
mere  joy  of  it,  and  there  was  in  his  voice  the 
God-given  vanity  of  bird  or  poet. 

He  had  caught  the  filly  by  her  little  plume 
and  stood  patting  her  forehead. 

"  A  wonderful  thing,  sor,  is  the  horse's  eye," 
he  continued.  "A  glance!  an'  they  know  if 
ye  be  kind  or  cruel.  Sweet  Phyllis !  Her  eye 
lids  are  as  bows ;  her  lashes  like  the  beard 
o'  the  corn.  Have  ye  ever  heard  the  three 
prayers  o'  the  horse  ?  " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  27 

"No,"  said  Allen. 

"Well,  three  times  a  day,  sor,  he  prays,  so 
they  say,  in  the  desert.  In  the  morning  he 
thinks  a  prayer  like  this,  '  O  Allah !  make 
me  beloved  o'  me  master.'  At  noon,  '  Do 
well  by  me  master  that  he  may  do  well  by 
me.'  At  even,  '  O  Allah !  grant,  at  last,  I 
may  bear  me  master  into  Paradise.' 

"An'  the  Arab,  sor,  he  looks  for  a  hard 
ride  an'  many  jumps  in  the  last  journey,  an' 
is  kind  to  him  all  the  days  of  his  life,  sor,  so 
he  may  be  able  to  make  it." 

For  a  moment  he  led  her  up  and  down  at  a 
quick  trot,  her  dainty  feet  touching  the  earth 
lightly  as  a  fawn's. 

"Thou'rt  made  for  the  hot  leagues  o'  the 
great  sand  sea,"  said  he,  patting  her  head. 
"  Ah !  thy  neck  shall  be  as  the  bowsprit ;  thy 
dust  as  the  flying  spray." 

"In  one  thing  you  are  like  Isaiah,"  said 
Allen,  as  he  whittled.  "The  Lord  God  hath 
given  thee  the  tongue  of  the  learned." 

"  An'  if  he  grant  me  the  power  to  speak  a 
word  in  season  to  him  that  is  weary,  I  shall 
be  content,"  said  the  tinker. 


28  BARREL 

Dinner  over,  they  came  out  of  doors.  The 
stranger  stood  filling  his  pipe.  Something  in 
his  talk  and  manner  had  gone  deep  into  the 
soul  of  the  boy,  who  now  whispered  a  moment 
with  his  father. 

"  Would  you  sell  the  filly  ?  "  said  Allen.  "  My 
boy  would  like  to  own  her." 

"  What,  ho,  the  boy  !  the  beautiful  boy  !  An' 
would  ye  love  her,  boy  ? "  the  tinker  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  answered  quickly. 

"An*  put  a  ribbon  in  her  forelock,  an'  a 
coat  o'  silk  on  her  back,  an',  mind  ye,  a  man 
o'  kindness  in  the  saddle  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  take  thy  horse,  an'  Allah  grant  thou 
be  successful  on  her  as  many  times  as  there 
be  hairs  in  her  skin." 

"And  the  price?"  said  Allen. 

"  Name  it,  an'  I'll  call  thee  just." 

The  business  over,  the  tinker  called  to  Trove, 
who  had  led  the  filly  to  her  stall, — 

"  You,  there,  strike  the  tents.  Bring  me 
the  mare.  This  very  day  she  may  bear  me 
to  forgiveness." 

Trove  brought  the  mare. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  29 

"  Remember,"  said  the  old  man,  turning 
as  he  rode  away,  "in  the  day  o'  the  last  judg 
ment  God  '11  mind  the  look  o'  thy  horse." 

He  rode  on  a  few  steps  and  halted,  turning 
in  the  saddle. 

"  Thou,  too,  Phyllis,"  he  called.  "God  '11  mind 
the  look  o'  thy  master;  see  that  ye  bring  him 
safe." 

The  little  filly  began  to  rear  and  call,  the 
mother  to  answer.  For  days  she  called  and 
trembled,  with  wet  eyes,  listening  for  the  voice 
that  still  answered,  though  out  of  hearing,  far 
over  the  hills.  And  Trove,  too,  was  lonely, 
and  there  was  a  kind  of  longing  in  his  heart 
for  the  music  in  that  voice  of  the  stranger. 


IV 

The   Uphill  Road 


F 


OR  Trove  it  was  a  day  of  sow 
ing.     The   strange    old   tinker 
had  filled  his  heart  with  a  new 
joy  and   a   new  desire.      Next 
^^^  morning  he  got  a  ride  to  Hills- 

borough  —  fourteen  miles  —  and  came  back, 
reading,  as  he  walked,  a  small,  green  book,  its 
thin  pages  covered  thick  with  execrably  fine 
printing,  its  title  "The  Works  of  Shakespeare." 
He  read  the  book  industriously  and  with 
keen  pleasure.  Allen  complained,  shortly,  that 
Shakespeare  and  the  filly  had  interfered  with 
the  potatoes  and  the  corn. 

The  filly  ceased  to  take  food  and  sickened  for 
a  time  after  the  dam  left  her.  Trove  lay  in  the 
stall  nights  and  gave  her  milk  sweetened  to  her 
liking.  She  grew  strong  and  playful,  and  for 
got  her  sorrow,  and  began  to  follow  him  like  a 
30 


DARREL  31 

dog  on  his  errands  up  and  down  the  farm. 
Trove  went  to  school  in  the  autumn  —  "  Select 
school,"  it  was  called.  A  two-mile  journey  it 
was,  by  trail,  but  a  full  three  by  the  wagon 
road.  He  learned  only  a  poor  lesson  the  first 
day,  for,  on  coming  in  sight  of  the  schoolhouse, 
he  heard  a  rush  of  feet  behind  him  and  saw  his 
filly  charging  down  the  trail.  He  had  to  go 
back  with  her  and  lose  the  day,  a  thought 
dreadful  to  him,  for  now  hope  was  high,  and 
school  days  few  and  precious.  At  first  he  was 
angry.  Then  he  sat  among  the  ferns,  covering 
his  face  and  sobbing  with  sore  resentment.  The 
little  filly  stood  over  him  and  rubbed  her  silky 
muzzle  on  his  neck,  and  kicked  up  her  heels  in 
play  as  he  pushed  her  back.  Next  morning  he 
put  her  behind  a  fence,  but  she  went  over  it 
with  the  ease  of  a  wild  deer  and  came  bound 
ing  after  him.  When,  at  last,  she  was  shut  in 
the  box-stall  he  could  hear  her  calling,  half  a 
mile  away,  and  it  made  his  heart  sore.  Soon 
after,  a  moose  treed  him  on  the  trail  and  held 
him  there  for  quite  half  a  day.  Later  he  had 
to  help  thrash  and  was  laid  up  with  the 
measles.  Then  came  rain  and  flooded  flats  that 


32  DARREL 

turned  him  off  the  trail.  Years  after  he  used 
to  say  that  work  and  weather,  and  sickness 
and  distance,  and  even  the  beasts  of  the  field 
and  wood,  resisted  him  in  the  way  of  learning. 

He  went  to  school  at  Hillsborough  that 
winter.  His  time,  which  Allen  gave  him  in  the 
summer,  had  yielded  some  forty-five  dollars. 
He  hired  a  room  at  thirty-five  cents  a  week. 
Mary  Allen  bought  him  a  small  stove  and  sent 
to  him,  in  the  sleigh,  dishes,  a  kettle,  chair,  bed, 
pillow,  and  quilt,  and  a  supply  of  candles. 

She  surveyed  him  proudly,  as  he  was  going 
away  that  morning  in  December. 

"  Folks  may  call  ye  han'some,"  she  said. 
"  They'd  like  to  make  fool  of  ye,  but  you  go  on 
'bout  yer  business  an'  act  as  if  ye  didn't  hear." 

He  had  a  figure  awkward,  as  yet,  but  fast 
shaping  to  comeliness.  Long,  light  hair  covered 
the  tops  of  his  ears  and  fell  to  his  collar.  His 
ruddy  cheeks  were  a  bit  paler  that  morning ; 
the  curve  in  his  lips  a  little  drawn  ;  his  blue 
eyes  had  begun  to  fill  and  the  dimple  in  his 
chin  to  quiver,  slightly,  as  he  kissed  her  who 
had  been  as  a  mother  to  him.  But  he  went 
away  laughing. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  33 

Many  have  seen  the  record  in  his  diary  of 
those  lank  and  busy  days.  The  Saturday  of  his 
first  week  at  school  he  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

"  Father  brought  me  a  small  load  of  wood 
and  a  sack  of  potatoes  yesterday,  so,  after 
this,  I  shall  be  able  to  live  cheaper.  My 
expenses  this  week  have  been  as  follows  :  — 

Rent        .        .        »  .  .  35  cents. 

Corn  meal        .         .  .  14     " 

Milk        .         .         .  .  .  20     « 

Bread      .         .      .  .  .  .     8     « 

Beef  bone         .         .  .  .     5     " 

Honey     .        .        .  "     .  .     5     " 

Four  potatoes,  about  .              I     " 

88  cents. 

"  Two  boys  who  have  a  room  on  the  same 
floor  got  through  the  week  for  75  cents 
apiece,  but  they  are  both  undersized  and 
don't  eat  as  hearty.  This  week  I  was 
tempted  by  the  sight  of  honey  and  was  fool 
enough  to  buy  a  little  which  I  didn't  need. 
I  have  some  meal  left  and  hope  next 
week  to  get  through  for  80  cents.  I  wish 
I  could  have  a  decent  necktie,  but  con 
science  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all.  I 
have  committed  half  the  first  act  of  '  Julius 
Csesar.'" 


34  BARREL 

And  yet,  with  pudding  and  milk  and  beef 
bone  and  four  potatoes  and  "Julius  Caesar"  the 
boy  was  cheerful. 

"  Don't  like  meat  any  more —  it's  mostly  poor 
stuff  anyway,"  he  said  to  his  father,  who  had 
come  to  see  him. 

"  Sorry — I  brought  down  a  piece  o'  venison," 
said  Allen. 

"  Well,  there's  two  kinds  o'  meat,"  said  the 
boy ;  "  what  ye  can  have,  that's  good,  an*  what 
ye  can't  have,  that  ain't  worth  havin'." 

He  got  a  job  in  the  mill  for  every  Saturday  at 
75  cents  a  day,  and  soon  thereafter  was  able  to 
have  a  necktie  and  a  pair  of  fine  boots,  and  a 
barber,  now  and  then,  to  control  the  length  of 
his  hair. 

Trove  burnt  the  candles  freely  and  was  able 
but  never  brilliant  in  his  work  that  year,  owing, 
as  all  who  knew  him  agreed,  to  great  modesty 
and  small  confidence.  He  was  a  kindly,  big- 
hearted  fellow,  and  had  wit  and  a  knowledge  of 
animals  and  of  woodcraft  that  made  him  excel 
lent  company.  That  schoolboy  diary  has  been 
of  great  service  to  all  with  a  wish  to  understand 
him.  On  a  faded  leaf  in  the  old  book  one  may 
read  as  follows  :  — 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  35 

"  I  have  received  letters  in  the  handwriting 
of  girls,  unsigned.  They  think  they  are 
in  love  with  me  and  say  foolish  things. 
I  know  what  they're  up  to.  They're  the 
kind  my  mother  spoke  of  —  the  kind  that 
set  their  traps  for  a  fool,  and  when  he's 
caught  they  use  him  for  a  thing  to  laugh 
at.  They're  not  going  to  catch  me. 
"  Expenses  for  seven  days  have  been  $1.14. 
Clint  McCormick  spent  60  cents  to  take  his 
girl  to  a  show  and  I  had  to  help  him 
through  the  week.  I  told  him  he  ought  to 
love  Caesar  less  and  Rome  more." 

Then  follows  the  odd  entry  without  which  it 
is  doubtful  if  the  history  of  Sidney  Trove  could 
ever  have  been  written.  At  least  only  a  guess 
would  have  been  possible,  where  now  is  cer 
tainty.  And  here  is  the  entry  :  — 

"  Since  leaving  home  the  men  of  the  dark 
have  been  very  troublesome.  They  wake 
me  about  every  other  night  and  sometimes 
I  wonder  what  they  mean." 

Now  an  odd  thing  had  developed  in  the 
mystery  of  the  boy.  Even  before  he  could  dis 
tinguish  between  reality  and  its  shadow  that 
we  see  in  dreams,  he  used  often  to  start  up  with 


36  BARREL 

a  loud  cry  of  fear  in  the  night.  When  a  small 
boy  he  used  to  explain  it  briefly  by  saying,  "  the 
men  in  the  dark."  Later  he  used  to  say,  "the 
men  outdoors  in  the  dark."  At  ten  years  of 
age  he  went  off  on  a  three  days'  journey  with 
the  Aliens.  They  put  up  in  a  tavern  that  had 
many  rooms  and  stairways  and  large  windows. 
It  was  a  while  after  his  return  of  an  evening, 
before  candle-light,  when  a  gray  curtain  of  dusk 
had  dimmed  the  windows,  that  he  first  told  the 
story,  soon  oft  repeated  and  familiar,  of  "the 
men  in  the  dark"  —  at  least  he  went  as  far  as 
he  knew. 

"  I  dream,"  he  was  wont  to  say  in  after  life, 
"  that  I  am  listening  in  the  still  night  alone  —  I 
am  always  alone.  I  hear  a  sound  in  the  silence, 
of  what  I  cannot  be  sure.  I  discover  then,  or 
seem  to,  that  I  stand  in  a  dark  room  and  trem 
ble,  with  great  fear,  of  what  I  do  not  know. 
I  walk  along  softly  in  bare  feet  —  I  am  so 
fearful  of  making  a  noise.  I  am  feeling,  feeling, 
my  hands  out  in  the  dark.  Presently  they  touch 
a  wall  and  I  follow  it  and  then  I  discover  that  I 
am  going  downstairs.  It  is  a  long  journey.  At 
last  I  am  in  a  room  where  I  can  see  windows, 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  37 

and,  beyond,  the  dim  light  of  the  moon.  Now  I 
seem  to  be  wrapped  in  fearful  silence.  Stealth 
ily  I  go  near  the  door.  Its  upper  half  is  glass, 
and  beyond  it  I  can  see  the  dark  forms  of  men. 
One  is  peering  through  with  face  upon  the  pane ; 
I  know  the  other  is  trying  the  lock,  but  I  hear  no 
sound.  I  am  in  a  silence  like  that  of  the  grave. 
I  try  to  speak.  My  lips  move,  but,  try  as  I  may, 
no  sound  comes  out  of  them.  A  sharp  terror 
is  pricking  into  me,  and  I  flinch  as  if  it  were  a 
knife-blade.  Well,  sir,  that  is  a  thing  I  can 
not  understand.  You  know  me  —  I  am  not  a 
coward.  If  I  were  really  in  a  like  scene  fear 
would  be  the  least  of  my  emotions ;  but  in 
the  dream  I  tremble  and  am  afraid.  Slowly, 
silently,  the  door  opens,  the  men  of  the  dark 
enter,  wall  and  windows  begin  to  reel.  I  hear 
a  quick,  loud  cry,  rending  the  silence  and  falling 
into  a  roar  like  that  of  flooding  waters.  Then  I 
wake,  and  my  dream  is  ended  —  for  that  night." 
Now  men  have  had  more  thrilling  and  re 
markable  dreams,  but  that  of  the  boy  Trove 
was  as  a  link  in  a  chain,  lengthening  with  his 
life,  and  ever  binding  him  to  some  event  far 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  memory. 


At  the  Sign  d  the  Dial 


I 


T  was  Sunday  and  a  clear, 
frosty  morning  of  midwinter. 
Trove  had  risen  early  and  was 
walking  out  on  a  long  pike 
that  divided  the  village  of 
Hillsborough  and  cut  the  waste  of  snow,  wind 
ing  over  hills  and  dipping"  into  valleys,  from 
Lake  Champlain  to  Lake  Ontario.  The  air 
was  cold  but  full  of  magic  sun-fire.  All  things 
were  aglow  —  the  frosty  roadway,  the  white 
fields,  the  hoary  forest,  and  the  mind  of  the 
beholder.  Trove  halted,  looking  off  at  the  far 
hills.  Then  he  heard  a  step  behind  him  and, 
as  he  turned,  saw  a  tall  man  approaching  at 
a  quick  pace.  The  latter  had  no  overcoat. 
A  knit  muffler  covered  his  throat,  and  a  satchel 
hung  from  a  strap  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  ho,  boy !  "  said  he,  shivering.     " '  I'll 
38 


DARREL  39 

follow  thee  a  month,  devise  with  thee  where 
thou  shalt  rest,  that  thou  may'st  hear  of  us,  an' 
we  o'  thee.'  What  o'  thy  people  an'  the  filly  ?  " 

"  All  well,"  said  Trove,  who  was  delighted  to 
see  the  clock  tinker,  of  whom  he  had  thought 
often.  "  And  what  of  you  ?  " 

"  Like  an  old  clock,  sor  —  a  weak  spring  an' 
a  bit  slow.  But,  praise  God  !  I've  yet  a  merry 
gong  in  me.  An'  what  think  you,  sor,  I've 
travelled  sixty  miles  an'  tinkered  forty  clocks 
in  the  week  gone." 

"  I  think  you  yourself  will  need  tinkering." 

"  Ah,  but  I  thank  the  good  God,  here  is  me 
home,"  the  old  man  remarked  wearily. 

"  I'm  going  to  school  here,"  said  Trove,  "  and 
hope  I  may  see  you  often." 

"  Indeed,  boy,  we'll  have  many  a  blessed 
hour,"  said  the  tinker.  "  Come  to  me  shop ; 
we'll  talk,  meditate,  explore,  an'  I'll  see  what 
o'clock  it  is  in  thy  country." 

They  were  now  in  the  village,  and,  halfway 
down  its  main  thoroughfare,  went  up  a  street 
of  gloom  and  narrowness  between  dingy  work 
shops.  At  one  of  them,  shaky,  and  gray  with 
the  stain  of  years,  they  halted.  The  two  lower 


40  BARREL 

windows  in  front  were  dim  with  dirt  and  cob 
webs.  A  board  above  them  was  the  rude  sign  of 
Sam  Bassett,  carpenter.  On  the  side  of  the  old 
shop  was  a  flight  of  sagging,  rickety  stairs. 
At  the  height  of  a  man's  head  an  old  brass 
dial  was  nailed  to  the  gray  boards.  Roughly 
lettered  in  lampblack  beneath  it  were  the 
words,  "  Clocks  Mended."  They  climbed  the 
shaky  stairs  to  a  landing,  supported  by  long 
braces,  and  whereon  was  a  broad  door,  with 
latch  and  keyhole  in  its  weathered  timber. 

"  All  bow  at  this  door,"  said  the  old  tinker, 
as  he  put  his  long  iron  key  in  the  lock.  "  It's 
respect  for  their  own  heads,  not  for  mine,"  he 
continued,  his  hand  on  the  eaves  that  overhung 
below  the  level  of  the  door-top. 

They  entered  a  loft,  open  to  the  peak  and 
shingles,  with  a  window  in  each  end.  Clocks, 
dials,  pendulums,  and  tiny  cog-wheels  of  wood 
and  brass  were  on  a  long  bench  by  the  street 
window.  Thereon,  also,  were  a  vice  and  tools. 
The  room  was  cleanly,  with  a  crude  homelike- 
ness  about  it.  Chromos  and  illustrated  papers 
had  been  pasted  on  the  rough,  board  walls. 

"  On  me  life,  it  is  cold,"  said  the  tinker,  open- 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  41 

ing  a  small  stove  and  beginning  to  whittle 
shavings.  "  *  Cold  as  a  dead  man's  nose.'  Be 
seated,  an'  try  —  try  to  be  happy." 

There  was  an  old  rocker  and  two  small  chairs 
in  the  room. 

"  I  do  not  feel  the  cold,"  said  Trove,  taking 
one  of  them. 

"  Belike,  good  youth,  thou  hast  the  rose  of 
summer  in  thy  cheeks,"  said  the  old  man. 

"And  no  need  of  an  overcoat,"  the  boy 
answered,  removing  the  one  he  wore  and  pass 
ing  it  to  the  tinker.  "  I  wish  you  to  keep  it,  sir." 

"  Wherefore,  boy  ?  'Twould  best  serve  me  on 
thy  back." 

"  Please  take  it,"  said  Trove.  "  I  cannot  bear 
to  think  of  you  shivering  in  the  cold.  Take  it, 
and  make  me  happy." 

"  Well,  if  it  keep  me  warm,  an'  thee  happy,  it 
will  be  a  wonderful  coat,"  said  the  old  man, 
wiping  his  gray  eyes. 

Then  he  rose  and  filled  the  stove  with  wood 
and  sat  down,  peering  at  Trove  between  the 
upper  rim  of  his  spectacles  and  the  feathery 
arches  of  silvered  hair  upon  his  brows. 

"  Thy  coat  hath  warmed  me  heart  already  — 


42  DARREL 

thanks  to  the  good  God  ! "  said  he,  fervently. 
"Why  so  kind?" 

"  If  I  am  kind,  it  is  because  I  must  be,"  said 
the  boy.  "  Who  were  my  father  and  mother,  I 
never  knew.  If  I  meet  a  man  who  is  in  need, 
I  say  to  myself,  '  He  may  be  my  father  or  my 
brother,  I  must  be  good  to  him ; '  and  if  it  is 
a  woman,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  maybe, 
she  is  my  mother  or  my  sister.  So  I  should 
have  to  be  kind  to  all  the  people  in  the  world  if 
I  were  to  meet  them." 

"  Noble  suspicion  !  by  the  faith  o'  me  fathers ! " 
said  the  old  man,  thoughtfully,  rubbing  his  long 
nose.  "  An'  have  ye  thought  further  in  the 
matter  ?  Have  ye  seen  whither  it  goes  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not." 

"  Well,  sor,  under  the  ancient  law,  ye  reap  as 
ye  have  sown,  but  more  abundantly.  I  gave 
me  coat  to  one  that  needed  it  more,  an'  by  the 
goodness  o'  God  I  have  reaped  another  an'  two 
friends.  Hold  to  thy  course,  boy,  thou  shalt 
have  friends  an'  know  their  value.  .  An'  then 
thou  shalt  say,  '  I'll  be  kind  to  this  man  because 
he  may  be  a  friend ; '  an'  love  shall  increase 
in  thee,  an'  around  thee,  an'  bring  happiness. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  43 

Ah,  boy !  in  the  business  o'  the  soul,  men  pay 
thee  better  than  they  owe.  Kindness  shall 
bring  friendship,  an'  friendship  shall  bring  love, 
an'  love  shall  bring  happiness,  an'  that,  sor, 
that  is  the  approval  o'  God.  What  speculation 
hath  such  profit  ?  Hast  thou  learned  to  think  ?  " 

"  I  hope  I  have,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Prithee  —  think  a  thought  for  me.  What  is 
the  first  law  o'  life  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  Thy  pardon,  boy,"  said  the  venerable  tinker, 
filling  a  clay  pipe  and  stretching  himself  on  a 
lounge.  "  Thou  art  not  long  out  o'  thy  clouts. 
It  is, '  Thou  shalt  learn  to  think  an'  obey.'  Con 
sider  how  man  and  beast  are  bound  by  it.  Very 
well  —  think  thy  way  up.  Hast  thou  any  fear  ?  " 

The  old  man  was  feeling  his  gray  hair, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Only  the  fear  o'  God,"  said  the  boy,  after  a 
moment  of  hesitation. 

"  Well,  on  me  word,  I  am  full  sorry,"  said  the 
tinker.  "Though  mind  ye,  boy,  fear  is  an 
excellent  good  thing,  an'  has  done  a  work  in 
the  world.  But,  hear  me,  a  man  had  two  horses 
the  same  age,  size,  shape,  an'  colour,  an'  one 


44  BARREL 

went  for  fear  o'  the  whip,  an'  the  other  went  as 
well  without  a  whip  in  the  wagon.  Now,  tell 
me,  which  was  the  better  horse  ?  " 

"The  one  that  needed  no  whip." 

"  Very  well !  "  said  the  old  man,  with  empha 
sis.  "  A  man  had  two  sons,  an'  one  obeyed  him 
for  fear  o'  the  whip,  an'  the  other,  because  he 
loved  his  father,  an'  could  not  bear  to  grieve 
him.  Tell  me  again,  boy,  which  was  the  better 
son  ?  " 

"The  one  that  loved  him,"  said  the  boy. 

"Very  well!  very  well!"  said  the  old  man, 
loudly.  "A  man  had  two  neighbours,  an'  one 
stole  not  his  sheep  for  fear  o'  the  law,  an'  the 
other,  sor,  he  stole  them  not,  because  he  loved 
his  neighbour.  Now  which  was  the  better 
man  ? " 

"The  man  that  loved  him." 

"  Very  well !  very  well !  and  again  very  well !  " 
said  the  tinker,  louder  than  before.  "There 
were  two  kings,  an*  one  was  feared,  an'  the 
other,  he  was  beloved ;  which  was  the  better 
king  ?  " 

"  The  one  that  was  beloved." 

"  Very  well !    and   three    times    again   very 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  45 

well !  "  said  the  old  man,  warmly.  "  An'  the 
good  God  is  he  not  greater  an'  more  to  be  loved 
than  all  kings  ?  Fear,  boy,  that  is  the  whip  o' 
destiny  driving  the  dumb  herd.  To  all  that 
fear  I  say  'tis  well,  have  fear,  but  pray  that  love 
may  conquer  it.  To  all  that  love  I  say,  fear 
only  lest  ye  lose  the  great  treasure.  Love  is 
the  best  thing,  an'  with  too  much  fear  it  sickens. 
Always  keep  it  with  thee  —  a  little  is  a  goodly 
property  an'  its  revenoo  is  happiness.  There 
fore,  be  happy,  boy  —  try  ever  to  be  happy." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  broken  by  the 
sound  of  a  church  bell. 

"To  thy  prayers,"  said  the  clock  tinker,  ris 
ing,  "an'  I'll  to  mine.  Dine  with  me  at  five, 
good  youth,  an'  all  me  retinoo  —  maids,  warders, 
grooms,  attendants  —  shall  be  at  thy  service." 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  come,"  said  the  boy,  smiling 
at  his  odd  host 

"  An'  see  thou  hast  hunger." 

"  Good  morning,  Mr. ? "  the  boy  hesitated. 

"  Barrel  —  Roderick  Barrel  —  "  said  the  old 
man,  "  that's  me  name,  sor,  an'  ye'll  find  me 
here  at  the  Sign  o'  the  Bial." 

A   wind   came    shrieking   over  the  hills,  and 


46  DARREL 

long  before  evening  the  little  town  lay  dusky  in 
a  scud  of  snow  mist.  The  old  stairs  were  quiv 
ering  in  the  storm  as  Trove  climbed  them. 

"  Welcome,  good  youth,"  said  the  clock  tinker, 
shaking  the  boy's  hand  as  he  came  in.  "  Ho 
there !  me  servitors.  Let  the  feast  be  spread," 
he  called  in  a  loud  voice,  stepping  quickly  to 
the  stove  that  held  an  upper  deck  of  wood, 
whereon  were  dishes.  "  Right  Hand  bring  the 
meat  an'  Left  Hand  the  potatoes  an'  Quick 
Foot  give  us  thy  help  here." 

He  suited  his  action  to  the  words,  placing  a 
platter  of  ham  and  eggs  in  the  centre  of  a  small 
table  and  surrounding  it  with  hot  roast  potatoes, 
a  pot  of  tea,  new  biscuit,  and  a  plate  of  honey. 

"  Ho !  Wit  an*  Happiness,  attend  upon  us 
here,"  said  he,  making  ready  to  sit  down. 

Then,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  something,  he 
hurried  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"  Care,  thou  skeleton,  go  hence,  and  thou, 
Poverty,  go  also,  and  see  thou  return  not  before 
cock-crow,"  said  he,  imperatively. 

"  You  have  many  servants,"  said  Trove. 

"  An'  how  may  one  have  a  castle  without  ser 
vants  ?  Forsooth,  boy,  horses  an'  hounds,  an' 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  47 

lords  an'  ladies  have  to  be  attended  to.  But  the 
retinoo  is  that  run  down  ye'd  think  me  home  a 
hospital.  Wit  is  a  creeping  dotard,  and  Happi 
ness  he  is  in  poor  health  an'  can  barely  drag 
himself  to  me  table,  an'  Hope  is  a  tippler,  an' 
Right  Hand  is  getting  the  palsy.  Alack  !  me 
best  servant  left  me  a  long  time  ago." 

"  And  who  was  he  ?  " 

"Youth!  lovely,  beautiful  Youth!  but  let  us 
be  happy.  I  would  not  have  him  back  — foolish, 
inconstant  Youth !  dreaming  dreams  an'  see 
ing  visions.  God  love  ye,  boy!  what  is  thy 
dream?" 

This  rallying  style  of  talk,  in  which  the  clock 
tinker  indulged  so  freely,  afforded  his  young 
friend  no  little  amusement.  His  tongue  had 
long  obeyed  the  lilt  of  classic  diction;  his 
thought  came  easy  in  Elizabethan  phrase. 
The  slight  Celtic  brogue  served  to  enhance  the 
piquancy  of  his  talk.  Moreover  he  was  really  a 
man  of  wit  and  imagination. 

"  Once,"  said  the  boy,  after  a  little  hesitation, 
"  I  thought  I  should  try  to  be  a  statesman,  but 
now  I  am  sure  I  would  rather  write  books." 

"  An'  what  kind  o'  books,  pray  ?  " 


48  DARREL 

"  Tales." 

"  An'  thy  merchandise  be  truth,  capital !  "  ex 
claimed  the  tinker.  "  Hast  thou  an  ear  for 
tales?" 

"  I'm  very  fond  of  them." 

"  Marry,  I'll  tell  thee  a  true  tale,  not  for  thy 
ear  only  but  for  thy  soul,  an'  some  day,  boy, 
'twill  give  thee  occupation  for  thy  wits." 

"  I'd  love  to  hear  it,"  said  the  boy. 

The  pendulums  were  ever  swinging  like  the 
legs  of  a  procession  trooping  through  the  loft, 
some  with  quick  steps,  some  with  slow.  Now 
came  a  sound  as  of  drums  beating.  It  was 
for  the  hour  of  eight,  and  when  it  stopped  the 
tinker  began. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  said  he,  as  they  rose 
from  the  table  and  the  old  man  went  for  his 
pipe,  "  'twas  long  ago,  an'  I  had  then  the  rose 
o'  youth  upon  me,  a  man  was  tempted  o'  the 
devil  an'  stole  money  —  a  large  sum  —  an'  made 
off  with  it.  These  hands  o'  mine  used  to  serve 
him  those  days,  an'  I  remember  he  was  a  man 
comely  an'  well  set  up,  an',  I  think,  he  had  hon 
our  an'  a  good  heart  in  him." 

The  old  man  paused. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  49 

"  I  should  not  think  it  possible,"  said  Trove, 
who  was  at  the  age  of  certainty  in  his  opinions 
and  had  long  been  trained  to  the  uncompromis 
ing  thought  of  the  Puritan.  "  A  man  who  steals 
can  have  no  honour  in  him." 

"  Ho  !  Charity,"  said  the  clock  tinker,  turn 
ing  as  if  to  address  one  behind  him.  "Sweet 
Charity  !  attend  upon  this  boy.  Mayhap,  sor," 
he  continued  meekly.  "  God  hath  blessed  me 
with  little  knowledge  o'  what  is  possible.  But 
I  speak  of  a  time  before  guilt  had  sored  him. 
He  was  officer  of  a  great  bank  —  let  us  say  —  in 
Boston.  Some  thought  him  rich,  but  he  lived 
high  an'  princely,  an'  I  take  it,  sor,  his  income 
was  no  greater  than  his  needs.  It  was  a  proud 
race  he  belonged  to  —  grand  people  they  were, 
all  o'  them  —  with  houses  an'  lands  an'  many 
servants.  His  wife  was  dead,  sor,  an'  he'd 
one  child  —  a  little  lad  o'  two  years,  an'  beauti 
ful.  One  day  the  boy  went  out  with  his  nurse, 
an'  where  further  nobody  knew.  He  never 
came  back.  Up  an'  down,  over  an'  across  they 
looked  for  him,  night  an'  day,  but  were  no  wiser. 
A  month  went  by  an'  not  a  sight  or  sign  o' 
him,  an'  their  hope  failed.  One  day  the  father 


50  DARREL 

he  got  a  note,  —  I  remember  reading  it  in  the 
papers,  sor,  —  an'  it  was  a  call  for  ransom 
money  —  one  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"  Kidnapped !  "  Trove  exclaimed  with  much 
interest. 

"  He  was,  sor,"  the  clock  tinker  resumed. 
"The  father  he  was  up  to  his  neck  in  trouble, 
then,  for  he  was  unable  to  raise  the  money.  He 
had  quarrelled  with  an  older  brother  whose  help 
would  have  been  sufficient  Well,  God  save  us 
all !  'twas  the  old  story  o'  pride  an'  bitterness. 
He  sought  no  help  o'  him.  A  year  an'  a  half 
passes  an'  a  gusty  night  o'  midwinter  the  bank 
burns.  Books,  papers,  everything  is  destroyed. 
Now  the  poor  man  has  lost  his  occupation.  A 
week  more  an'  his  good  name  is  gone ;  a  month 
an'  he's  homeless.  A  whisper  goes  down  the 
long  path  o'  gossip.  Was  he  a  thief  an'  had  he 
burned  the  record  of  his  crime  ?  The  scene 
changes,  an'  let  me  count  the  swift,  relentless 
years." 

The  old  man  paused  a  moment,  looking  up 
thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  say  ten  or  mayhap  a  dozen  passed  — 
or  more  or  less  it  matters  little.     Boy  an'  man, 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  51 

where  were  they  ?  O  the  sad  world,  sor !  To 
all  that  knew  them  they  were  as  people  buried 
in  their  graves.  Think  o'  this  drowning  in  the 
flood  o'  years  —  the  stately  ships  sunk  an'  rot 
ting  in  oblivion ;  some  word  of  it,  sor,  may  well 
go  into  thy  book." 

The  tinker  paused  a  moment,  lighting  his 
pipe,  and  after  a  puff  or  two  went  on  with  the 
tale. 

"It  is  a  winter  day  in  a  great  city  —  there 
are  buildings  an'  crowds  an'  busy  streets  an* 
sleet  in  the  bitter  wind.  I  am  there,  —  an'  me 
path  is  one  o'  many  crossing  each  other  like  — 
well,  sor,  like  lines  on  a  slate,  if  thou  were  to 
make  ten  thousand  o'  them  an'  both  eyes  shut. 
I  am  walking  slowly,  an'  lo  !  there  is  the  banker. 
I  meet  him  face  to  face  —  an  ill-clad,  haggard, 
cold,  forgotten  creature.  I  speak  to  him. 

" '  The  blessed  Lord  have  mercy  on  thee,'  I 
said. 

"  '  For  meeting  thee  ? '  said  the  poor  man. 
'  What  is  thy  name  ? ' 

"  '  Roderick  Barrel.' 

" '  An'  I,'  said  he,  sadly,  '  am  one  o'  the 
lost  in  hell.  Art  thou  the  devil  ? ' 


52  DARREL 

"  '  Nay,  this  hand  o'  mine  hath  opened  thy 
door  an'  blacked  thy  boots  for  thee  often/ 

said  I.     '  Dost  thou  not  remember  ? ' 

• 

'"Dimly  —  it  was  a  long  time  ago,'  he  an 
swered. 

"  We  said  more,  sor,  but  that  is  no  part  o'  the 
story.  Very  well !  I  went  with  him  to  his  lodg 
ings, —  a  little  cold  room  in  a  garret,  — an'  there 
alone  with  me  he  gave  account  of  himself.  He 
had  shovelled,  an'  dug,  an'  lifted,  an'  run  errands 
until  his  strength  was  low  an'  the  weight  of  his 
hand  a  burden.  What  hope  for  him  —  what 
way  to  earn  a  living ! 

" '  Have  courage,  man,'  I  said  to  him.  '  Thou 
shalt  learn  to  mend  clocks.  It's  light  an'  de 
cent  work,  an'  one  may  live  by  it  an'  see  much 
o'  the  world.' 

"  There  was  an  old  clock,  sor,  in  a  heap  o' 
rubbish  that  lay  in  a  corner.  I  took  it  apart, 
and  soon  he  saw  the  office  of  each  wheel  an* 
pinion  an'  the  infirmity  that  stopped  them  an' 
the  surgery  to  make  them  sound.  I  tarried 
long  in  the  great  city,  an'  every  evening  we 
were  together  in  the  little  room.  I  bought  him 
a  kit  o'  tools  an'  some  brass,  an'  we  would 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  53 

shatter  the  clockworks  an'  build  them  up  again 
until  he  had  skill,  sor,  to  make  or  mend. 

"  *  Me  good  friend,'  said  he,  one  evening 
after  we  had  been  a  long  time  at  work,  '  I  wish 
thou  could'st  teach  me  how  to  mend  a  broken 
life.  For  God's  sake,  help  me !  I  am  fainting 
under  a  great  burden.' 

"  '  What  can  I  do  ? '  said  I  to  him. 

"  Then,  sor,  he  went  over  his  story  with  me 
from  beginning  to  end.  It  was  an  impressive, 
a  sacred  confidence.  Ah,  boy,  it  would  be  dis 
honour  to  tell  thee  his  name,  but  his  story,  that 
I  may  tell  thee,  changing  the  detail,  so  it  may 
never  add  a  straw  to  his  burden.  I  shall  quote 
him  in  substance  only,  an'  follow  the  long  habit 
o'  me  own  tongue. 

"  '  Well,  ye  remember  how  me  son  was  taken,' 
said  he.  '  I  could  not  raise  the  ransom,  try  as  I 
would.  Now,  large  sums  were  in  me  keeping 
an'  I  fell.  I  remember  that  day.  Ah !  man, 
the  devil  seemed  to  whisper  to  me.  But,  God 
forgive !  it  was  for  love  that  I  fell.  Little  by 
little  I  began  to  take  the  money  I  must  have 
an'  cover  its  absence.  I  said  to  meself,  some 
time  I'll  pay  it  back  —  that  ancient  sophistry 


54  DARREL 

o'  the  devil.  When  me  thieving  had  gone  far, 
an'  near  its  goal,  the  bank  burned.  As  God's 
me  witness  I'd  no  hand  in  that.  I  weighed  the 
chances  an'  expected  to  go  to  prison  —  well, 
say  for  ten  years,  at  least.  I  must  suffer  in 
order  to  save  the  boy,  an'  was  ready  for  the 
sacrifice.  Free  again,  I  would  help  him  to  re 
turn  the  money.  That  burning  o'  the  records 
shut  off  the  prison,  but  opened  the  fire  o'  hell 
upon  me.  Half  a  year  had  gone  by,  an'  not  a 
word  from  the  kidnappers.  I  took  a  note  to  the 
place  appointed,  —  a  hollow  log  in  the  woods, 
a  bit  east  of  a  certain  bridge  on  the  public  high 
way  twenty  miles  out  o'  the  city,  —  but  no 
answer,  —  not  a  word,  —  not  a  line  up  to  this 
moment.  They  must  have  relinquished  hope 
an'  put  the  boy  to  death. 

" '  In  that  old  trunk  there  under  the  bed  is  a 
dusty,  moulding,  cursed  heap  o'  money  done 
up  in  brown  paper  an'  tied  with  a  string.  It 
is  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  an'  the  price  o' 
me  soul.' 

" '  An'  thou  in  rags  an'  a  garret,'  said  I. 

"  '  An'  I  in  rags  an*  hell/  said  he,  sor,  looking 
down  at  himself. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  55 

"  He  drew  out  the  trunk  an'  showed  me  the 
money,  stacks  of  it,  dirty,  an'  stinking  o'  damp 
mould. 

" '  There  it  is,'  said  he,  *  every  dollar  I 
stole  is  there.  I  brought  it  with  me  an'  over 
these  hundreds  o'  miles  I  could  hear  the  tongue 
o'  gossip.  Every  night  as  I  lay  down  I  could 
hear  the  whispering  of  all  the  people  I  ever 
knew.  I  could  see  them  shake  their  heads. 
Then  came  this  locket  o'  gold.' 

"  A  beautiful,  shiny  thing  it  was,  an'  he  took 
out  of  it  a  little  strand  o'  white  hair  an'  read 
these  words  cut  in  the  gleaming  case :  — 

" '  Here  are  silver  an'  gold, 

The  one  for  a  day  o1  remembrance  between  thee  an' 

dishonour, 
The  other  for  a  day  o1  plenty  between  thee  an'  want.' 

"  It  was  an  odd  thought  an'  worth  keeping, 
an'  often  I  have  repeated  the  words.  The 
silvered  hair,  that  was  for  remembrance ;  an' 
the  gold  he  might  sell  and  turn  it  into  a  day 
o'  plenty. 

" '  In  the  locket  was  a  letter,'  said  the  poor 
man.  '  Here  it  is,'  an'  he  held  it  in  the  light  o' 
the  candle.  '  See,  it  is  signed  "  mother." 


56  BARREL 

"  An'  he  read  from  the  letter  words  o'  sorrow 
an'  bitter  shame,  an'  firm  confidence  in  his 
honour. 

"  '  It  ground  me  to  the  very  dust,'  he  went  on. 
1 1  put  the  money  in  that  bundle,  every  dollar. 
I  could  not  return  it,  an'  so  confirm  the  disgrace 
o'  her  an'  all  the  rest.  I  could  not  use  it,  for 
if  I  lived  in  comfort  they  would  ask  —  all  o' 
them  —  whence  came  his  money?  For  their 
sake  I  must  walk  in  poverty  all  me  days.  An* 
I  went  to  work  at  heavy  toil,  sor,  as  became  a 
poor  man.  As  God's  me  judge  I  felt  a  pride 
in  rags  an*  the  horny  hand.' " 

The  tinker  paused  a  moment  in  which  all 
the  pendulums  seemed  to  quicken  pace,  tick 
lapping  upon  tick,  as  if  trying  to  get  ahead 
of  each  other. 

"  Think  of  it,  boy,"  Barrel  continued.  "  A 
pride  in  rags  an'  poverty.  Bring  that  into  thy 
book  an'  let  thy  best  thinking  bear  upon  it. 
Show  us  how  patch  an'  tatter  were  for  the  poor 
man  as  badges  of  honour  an'  success. 

" '  I  thought  to  burn  the  money,'  me  host 
went  on.  '  But  no,  that  would  have  robbed  me 
o'  one  great  possibility  —  that  o'  restoring  it. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  57 

Some  time,  when  they  were  dead,  maybe,  an* 
I  could  suffer  alone,  I  would  restore  it,  or,  at 
least,  I  might  see  a  way  to  turn  it  into  good 
works.  So  I  could  not  be  quit  o'  the  money. 
Day  an'  night  these  slow  an'  heavy  years  it  has 
been  me  companion,  cursing  an'  accusing  me. 

"  '  I  lie  here  o'  nights  thinking.  In  that  heap 
o'  money  I  seem  to  hear  the  sighs  an'  sobs  o' 
the  poor  people  that  toiled  to  earn  it.  I  feel 
their  sweat  upon  me,  an'  God  !  this  heart  o' 
mine  is  crowded  to  bursting  with  the  despair 
o'  hundreds.  An',  betimes,  I  hear  the  cry  o' 
murder  in  the  cursed  heap  as  if  there  were 
some  had  blood  upon  it.  An'  then  I  dream 
it  has  caught  fire  beneath  me  an*  I  am  burn 
ing  raw  in  the  flame.'  " 

The  tinker  paused  again,  crossing  the  room 
and  watching  the  swing  of  a  pendulum. 

"  Boy,  boy,"  said  he,  returning  to  his  chair, 
"think  o'  that  complaining,  immovable  heap 
lying  there  like  the  blood  of  a  murder.  An' 
thy  reader  must  feel  the  toil  an'  sweat  an' 
misery  an'  despair  that  is  in  a  great  sum,  an' 
how  it  all  presses  on  the  heart  o'  him  that 
gets  it  wrongfully. 


58  BARREL 

"  '  Well,  sor,'  the  poor  fellow  continued,  *  now 
an'  then  I  met  those  had  known  me,  an'  reports 
o'  me  poverty  went  home.  An'  those  dear  to 
me  sent  money,  the  sight  o'  which  rilled  me  with 
a  mighty  sickness,  an'  I  sent  it  back  to  them. 
Long  ago,  thank  God  !  they  ceased  to  think  me 
a  thief,  but  only  crazy.  Tell  me,  man,  what 
shall  I  do  with  the  money  ?  There  be  those 
living  I  have  to  consider,  an*  those  dead,  an* 
those  unborn.' 

" '  Hide  it,'  said  I,  '  an'  go  to  thy  work  an' 
God  give  thee  counsel.'  ' 

Man  and  boy  rose  from  the  table  and  drew 
up  to  the  little  stove. 

"  Now,  boy,"  said  the  clock  tinker,  leaning 
toward  him  with  knitted  brows,  "consider  this 
poor  thief  who  suffered  so  for  his  friends. 
Think  o'  these  good  words,  '  Greater  love  hath 
no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friends.'  If  thou  should'st  ever  write  of 
it,  thy  problem  will  be  to  reckon  the  good  an' 
evil,  an'  give  each  a  careful  estimate  an'  him 
his  proper  rank! " 

"What  a  sad  tale!"  said  the  boy,  thought 
fully.  "  It's  terrible  to  think  he  may  be  my 
father." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  59 

"  I'd  have  no  worry  o'  that,  sor,"  said  the 
clock  tinker.  "  There  be  ten  thousand  —  ay, 
more  —  who  know  not  their  fathers.  An', 
moreover,  'twas  long,  long  ago." 

"Please  tell  me  when  was  the  boy  taken," 
said  Trove. 

"  Time,  or  name,  or  place,  I  cannot  tell  thee, 
lest  I  betray  him,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Neither 
is  necessary  to  thy  tale.  Keep  it  with  thee 
a  while;  thou  art  young  yet  an'  close  inshore. 
Wait  until  ye  sound  the  further  deep.  Then, 
sor,  write,  if  God  give  thee  power,  and  think 
chiefly  o'  them  in  peril  an'  about  to  dash  their 
feet  upon  the  stones." 

For  a  moment  the  clocks'  ticking  was  like 
the  voice  of  many  ripples  washing  the  shore 
of  the  Infinite.  A  new  life  had  begun  for 
Trove,  and  they  were  cutting  it  into  seconds. 
He  looked  up  at  them  and  rose  quickly  and 
stood  a  moment,  his  thumb  on  the  door-latch. 
Outside  they  could  hear  the  rush  and  scatter 
of  the  snow. 

"Poor  youth!"  said  the  old  man.  "Thou 
hast  no  coat  —  take  mine.  Take  it,  I  say.  It 
will  give  thee  comfort  an'  me  happiness." 


60  BARREL 

He  would  hear  no  refusal,  and  again  the 
coat  changed  owners,  giving  happiness  to  the 
old  and  comfort  to  the  new. 

Then  Trove  went  down  the  rickety  stairs 
and  away  in  the  darkness. 


VI 


A  Certain  Rich  Man 

ag"g^cjfc>^f7gg|  ILEY  BROOKE  had  a  tongue 
^^^  Gg  for  gossip,  an  ear  for  evil  re- 
/jr^  g)  port,  an  eye  for  rascals.  Every 
g  day  new  suspicions  took  root 
§&lfr%r<l?^|j>jg  in  him,  while  others  grew  and 
came  to  great  size  and  were  as  hard  to  con 
ceal  as  pumpkins.  He  had  meanness  enough 
to  equip  all  he  knew,  and  gave  it  with  a  lavish 
tongue.  In  his  opinion  Hillsborough  came 
within  one  of  having  as  many  rascals  in  it  as 
there  were  people.  He  had  tried  to  bring 
them  severally  to  justice  by  vain  appeals  to 
the  law,  having  sued  for  every  cause  in  the 
books,  but  chiefly  for  trespass  and  damages, 
real  and  exemplary.  He  was  a  money-lender, 
shaving  notes  or  taking  them  for  larger  sums 
than  he  lent,  with  chattel  mortgages  for  secu 
rity.  Foreclosure  and  sale  were  a  perennial 
61 


62  DARREL 

source  of  profit  to  him.  He  was  tall  and  well 
past  middle  age,  with  a  short,  gray  beard,  a 
look  of  seventy,  a  stoop  in  his  shoulders,  and 
a  third  wife  whom  nobody,  within  the  know 
ledge  of  the  townfolk,  had  ever  seen.  If  he 
had  no  other  to  gossip  with,  he  provided  imag 
inary  company  and  talked  to  his  own  ears.  He 
thought  himself  a  most  powerful  and  agile  man, 
boasting  often  that  he  still  kept  the  vigour  of 
his  youth.  On  his  errands  in  the  village  he 
often  broke  into  an  awkward  gallop,  like  a 
child  at  play.  When  he  slackened  pace  it  was 
to  shake  his  head  solemnly,  as  if  something 
had  reminded  him  of  the  wickedness  of  the 
world. 

"  If  I  dared  tell  all  I  knew,"  he  would  whis 
per  suggestively,  and  then  proceed  to  tell  much 
more  than  he  could  possibly  have  known.  Any 
one  of  many  may  have  started  his  tongue,  but 
the  shortcomings  of  one  Ezekiel  Swackhammer 
were  for  him  an  ever  present  help  and  provoca 
tion.  If  there  were  nothing  new  to  talk  about, 
there  was  always  Swackhammer.  Poor  Swack 
hammer  had  done  everything  he  ought  not  to 
have  done.  The  good  God  himself  was  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  63 

only  being  that  had  the  approval  of  old  Riley 
Brooke.  It  was  curious  —  that  turning  of  his 
tongue  from  the  slander  of  men  to  the  praise  of 
God.  And  of  the  goodness  of  the  Almighty  he 
was  quite  as  sure  as  of  the  badness  of  men. 
Assurance  of  his  own  salvation  had  come  to 
him  one  day  when  he  was  shearing  sheep,  and 
when,  as  he  related  often,  finding  himself  on  his 
knees  to  shear,  he  remained  to  pray.  Sundays 
and  every  Wednesday  evening  he  wore  a  stove 
pipe  hat  and  a  long  frock  coat  of  antique  and 
rusty  aspect.  On  his  way  to  church  —  with  hos 
pitality  even  for  the  like  of  him,  thank  God !  — 
he  walked  slowly  with  head  bent  until,  remem 
bering  his  great  agility  and  strength,  he  began 
to  run,  giving  a  varied  exhibition  of  skips  and 
jumps  terminating  in  a  sort  of  gallop.  Once  in 
the  sacred  house  he  looked  to  right  and  left 
accusingly,  and  aloft  with  encouraging  applause. 
His  God  was  one  of  wrath,  vengeance,  and  de 
struction  ;  his  hell  the  destination  of  his  enemies. 
They  who  resented  the  screw  of  his  avarice,  and 
pulled  their  thumbs  away ;  they  who  treated 
him  with  contempt,  and  whose  faults,  compared 
to  his  own,  were  as  a  mound  to  a  mountain  — 


64  DARREL 

they  were  all  to  burn  with  everlasting  fire,  while 
he,  on  account  of  that  happy  thought  the  day 
of  the  sheep-shearing,  was  to  sit  forever  with 
the  angels  in  heaven. 

"  Ye're  going  t'  heaven,  I  hear,"  said  Barrel, 
who  had  repaired  a  clock  for  him,  and  heard 
complaint  of  his  small  fee. 

"  I  am,"  was  the  spirited  reply. 

"  God  speed  ye !  "  said  the  tinker,  as  he  went 
away. 

In  such  disfavour  was  the  poor  man,  that  all 
would  have  been  glad  to  have  him  go  anywhere, 
so  he  left  Hillsborough. 

One  day  in  the  Christmas  holidays,  a  boy 
came  to  the  door  of  Riley  Brooke,  with  a  buck 
saw  on  his  arm. 

"  I'm  looking  for  work,"  said  the  boy,  "and 
I'd  be  glad  of  the  chance  to  saw  your  wood." 

"  How  much  a  cord  ?  "  was  the  loud  inquiry. 

"Forty  cents." 

"Too  much,"  said  Brooke.  "How  much  a 
day?" 

"  Six  shillings." 

"  Too  much,"  said  the  old  man,  snappishly. 
"  I  used  to  git  six  dollars  a  month,  when  I  was 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  65 

your  age,  an'  rise  at  four  o'clock  in  the  mornin' 
an'  work  till  bedtime.  You  boys  now-days  are 
a  lazy  good-fer-nothin'  lot.  What's  yer  name  ?  " 

"  Sidney  Trove." 

"  Don't  want  ye." 

"Well,  mister,"  said  the  boy,  who  was  much 
in  need  of  money,  "  I'll  saw  your  wood  for  any 
thing  you've  a  mind  to  give  me." 

"I'll  give  ye  fifty  cents  a  day,"  said  the  old 
man. 

Trove  hesitated.  The  sum  was  barely  half 
what  he  could  earn,  but  he  had  given  his  prom 
ise,  and  fell  to.  Riley  Brooke  spent  half  the 
day  watching  and  urging  him  to  faster  work. 
More  than  once  the  boy  was  near  quitting,  but 
kept  his  good  nature  and  a  strong  pace.  When, 
at  last,  Brooke  went  away,  Trove  heard  a  sly 
movement  of  the  blinds,  and  knew  that  other 
eyes  were  on  the  watch.  He  spent  three  days 
at  the  job  —  laming,  wearisome  days,  after  so 
long  an  absence  from  heavy  toil. 

"Wai,  I  suppose  ye  want  money,"  Brooke 
snapped,  as  the  boy  came  to  the  door.  "  How 
much?" 

"  One  dollar  and  a  half." 


66  DARREL 

"  Too  much,  too  much ;  I  won't  pay  it." 
"That  was  the  sum  agreed  upon." 
"  Don't  care,  ye  hain't  earned  no  dollar  'n  a 
half.  Here,  take  that  an'  clear  out ;  "  having 
said  which,  Brooke  tossed  some  money  at  the 
boy  and  slammed  the  door  in  his  face.  Trove 
counted  the  money  —  it  was  a  dollar  and  a 
quarter.  He  was  sorely  tempted  to  open  the 
door  and  fling  it  back  at  him,  but  wisely  kept 
his  patience  and  walked  away.  It  was  the  day 
before  Christmas.  Trove  had  planned  to  walk 
home  that  evening,  but  a  storm  had  come,  drift 
ing  the  snow  deep,  and  he  had  to  forego  the 
visit.  After  supper  he  went  to  the  Sign  of  the 
Dial.  The  tinker  was  at  home  in  his  odd 
little  shop  and  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome. 
Trove  sat  by  the  fire,  and  told  of  the  sawing  for 
Riley  Brooke. 

"  God  rest  him  !  "  said  the  tinker,  thoughtfully 
puffing  his  pipe.     "  What  would  happen,  think 
ye,  if  a  man  like  him  were  let  into  heaven  ? " 
"I  cannot  imagine,"  said  the  boy. 
"Well,  for  one  thing,"  said  the  tinker,  "he'd 
begin    to    look   for  chattels,   an'  I   do  fear  me 
there'd  soon  be  many  without  harps." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  67 

"  What  is  one  to  do  with  a  man  like  that? " 
Trove  inquired. 

"  Only  this,"  said  the  tinker ;  "  put  him  in  thy 
book.  He'll  make  good  history.  But,  sor, 
for  company  he's  damnably  poor." 

"  It's  a  new  way  to  use  men,"  said  Trove. 

"Nay,  an  old  way  —  a  very  old  way.  Often 
God  makes  an  example  o'  rare  malevolence  an' 
seems  to  say,  '  Look,  despise,  and  be  anything 
but  this.'  Like  Judas  and  Herod  he  is  an 
excellent  figure  in  a  book.  Put  him  in  thine, 
boy." 

"  And  credit  him  with  full  payment  ? "  the 
boy  asked. 

"  Long  ago,  praise  God,  there  was  a  great 
teacher,"  said  the  old  man.  "  It  is  a  day  to 
think  of  Him.  Return  good  for  evil  —  those 
were  His  words.  We've  never  tried  it,  an'  I'd 
like  to  see  how  it  may  work.  The  trial  would 
be  amusing  if  it  bore  no  better  fruit." 

"  What  do  you  propose  ? " 

"  Well,  say  we  take  him  a  gift  with  our  best 
wishes,"  said  the  tinker. 

"  If  I  can  afford  it,"  the  boy  replied. 

The   tinker   answered    quickly :     "  Oh,    I've 


68  BARREL 

always  a  little  for  a  Christmas,  an'  I'll  buy  the 
gifts.  Ah,  boy,  let's  away  for  the  gifts.  We'll 
—  we'll  punish  him  with  kindness." 

They  went  together  and  bought  a  pair  of  mit 
tens  and  a  warm  muffler  for  Riley  Brooke  and 
walked  to  his  door  with  them  and  rapped  upon 
it.  Brooke  came  to  the  door  with  a  candle. 

"  What  d'ye  want  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  To  wish  you  Merry  Christmas  and  present 
you  gifts,"  said  Trove. 

The  old  man  raised  his  candle,  surveying 
them  with  surprise  and  curiosity. 

"  What  gifts  ?  "  he  inquired  in  a  milder  tone. 

"Well,"  said  the  boy,  "we've  brought  you 
mittens  and  a  muffler." 

"  Ha  !  ha !  Yer  consciences  have  smote  ye," 
said  Brooke.  "Glory  to  God  who  brings  the 
sinner  to  repentance  !  " 

"  And  fills  the  bitter  cup  o'  the  ungrateful," 
said  the  tinker.  And  they  went  away. 

"  I'd  like  to  bring  one  other  gift,"  said  Bar 
rel. 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  God  forgive  me  !  A  rope  to  hang  him.  But 
mind  thee,  boy,  we  are  trying  the  law  o'  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  69 

great  teacher,  and  let  us  see  if  we  can  learn  to 
love  this  man." 

"Love  Riley  Brooke?"  said  Trove,  doubt 
fully. 

"  A  great  achievement,  I  grant  thee,"  said  the 
tinker.  "  For  if  we  can  love  him,  we  shall  be 
able  to  love  anybody.  Let  us  try  and  see  what 
comes  of  it." 

A  man  was  waiting  for  Barrel  at  the  foot  of 
the  old  stairs  —  a  tall  man,  poorly  dressed, 
whom  Trove  had  not  seen  before,  and  whom, 
now,  he  was  not  able  to  see  clearly  in  the  dark 
ness. 

"  The  mare  is  ready,"  said  Barrel.  "  'Tis  a 
dark  night." 

He  to  whom  the  tinker  had  spoken  made  no 
answer. 

"Good  night,"  said  the  tinker,  turning.  "A 
Merry  Christmas  to  thee,  boy,  an'  peace  an' 
plenty." 

"  I  have  peace,  and  you  have  given  me  plenty 
to  think  about,"  said  Trove. 

On  his  way  home  the  boy  thought  of  the 
stranger  at  the  stairs,  wondering  if  he  were  the 
other  tinker  of  whom  Barrel  had  told  him.  At 


7°  BARREL 

his  lodging  he  found  a  new  pair  of  boots  with 
only  the  Christmas  greeting  on  a  card. 

"Well,"  said  Trove,  already  merrier  than 
most  of  far  better  fortune,  "he  must  have 
been  somebody  that  knew  my  needs." 


VII 

Darrel  of  the  Blessed  Isles 


HE  clock  tinker  was  off  in 
the  snow  paths  every  other 
week.  In  more  than  a  hun 
dred  homes,  scattered  far  along 
road  lines  of  the  great  valley, 
he  set  the  pace  of  the  pendulums.  Every 
winter  the  mare  was  rented  for  easy  driving 
and  Darrel  made  his  journeys  afoot.  Twice 
a  day  Trove  passed  the  little  shop,  and  if 
there  were  a  chalk  mark  on  the  dial,  he 
bounded  upstairs  to  greet  his  friend.  Some 
times  he  brought  another  boy  into  the  rare 
atmosphere  of  the  clock  shop  —  one,  mayhap, 
who  needed  some  counsel  of  the  wise  old 
man. 

Spring  had  come  again.  Every  day  sowers 
walked  the  hills  and  valleys  around  Hillsbor- 
ough,  their  hands  swinging  with  a  godlike 


72  DARREL 

gesture  that  summoned  the  dead  to  rise; 
everywhere  was  the  odour  of  broken  field  or 
garden.  Night  had  come  again,  after  a  day 
of  magic  sunlight,  and  soon  after  eight  o'clock 
Trove  was  at  the  door  of  the  tinker  with  a 
schoolmate. 

"  How  are  you  ? "  said  Trove,  as  Barrel 
opened  the  door. 

"  Better  for  the  sight  o'  you,"  said  the  old 
man,  promptly.  "  Enter  Sidney  Trove  and  an 
other  young  gentleman.  "• 

The  boys  took  the  two  chairs  offered  them 
in  silence. 

"  Kind  sor,"  the  tinker  added,  turning  to 
Trove,  "thou  hast  thy  cue;  give  us  the 
lines." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  boy.  "  Mr.  Barrel, 
my  friend  Richard  Kent." 

"  Of  the  Academy  ? "  said  Barrel,  as  he  held 
to  the  hand  of  Kent. 

"Of  the  Academy,"  said  Trove. 

"An',  I  make  no  doubt,  o'  good  hope,"  the 
tinker  added.  "  Let  me  stop  one  o'  the 
clocks  —  so  I  may  not  forget  the  hour  o'  meet 
ing  a  new  friend." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  73 

Barrel  crossed  the  room  and  stopped  a 
pendulum. 

"  He  would  like  to  join  this  night-school  of 
ours,"  Trove  answered. 

"Would  he?"  said  the  tinker.  "Well,  it  is 
one  o'  hard  lessons.  When  ye  come  t'  mul 
tiply  love  by  experience,  an'  subtract  vanity 
an'  add  peace,  an'  square  the  remainder,  an' 
then  divide  by  the  number  o'  days  in  thy  life 
—  it  is  a  pretty  problem,  an'  the  result  may 
be  much  or  little,  an*  ye  reach  it  — " 

He  paused  a  moment,  thoughtfully  puffing 
the  smoke. 

"Not  in  this  term  o'  school,"  he  added 
impressively. 

All  were  silent  a  little  time. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  Trove  inquired 
presently. 

"  Home,"  said  the  old  man. 

There  was  a  puzzled  look  on   Trove's  face. 

"  Home  ? "  he  repeated  with  a  voice  of 
inquiry. 

"  I  have,  sor,"  the  clock  tinker  went  on. 
"  This  poor  shelter  is  not  me  home  —  it's 
only  for  a  night  now  an'  then.  I've  a  grand 


74  BARREL 

house  an'  many  servants  an'  a  garden,  sor, 
where  there  be  flowers  —  lovely  flowers  —  an' 
sunlight  an'  noble  music.  Believe  me,  boy, 
'tis  enough  to  make  one  think  o'  heaven." 

"  I  did  not  know  of  it,"  said  Trove. 

"  Know  ye  not  there  is  a  country  in  easy 
reach  of  us,  with  fair  fields  an'  proud  cities 
an'  many  people  an'  all  delights,  boy,  all 
delights  ?  There  I  hope  thou  shalt  found  a 
city  thyself  an'  build  it  well  so  nothing  shall 
overthrow  it  —  fire,  nor  flood,  nor  the  slow 
siege  o'  years." 

"  Where  ? "  Trove  inquired  eagerly. 

"  In  the  Blessed  Isles,  boy,  in  the  Blessed 
Isles.  Imagine  the  infinite  sea  o'  time  that  is 
behind  us.  Stand  high  an'  look  back  over  its 
dead  level.  King  an'  empire  an'  all  their 
striving  multitudes  are  sunk  in  the  mighty 
deep.  But  thou  shalt  see  rising  out  of  it  the 
Blessed  Isles  of  imagination.  Green  —  forever 
green  are  they  —  and  scattered  far  into  the 
dim  distance.  Look !  there  is  the  city  o' 
Shakespeare  —  Norman  towers  and  battlements 
and  Gothic  arches  looming  above  the  sea.  Go 
there  an'  look  at  the  people  as  they  come  an' 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  75 

go.  Mingle  with  them  an'  find  good  company 
—  merry-hearted  folk  a-plenty,  an'  God  knows 
I  love  the  merry-hearted !  Talk  with  them, 
an'  they  will  teach  thee  wisdom.  Hard  by  is 
the  Isle  o'  Milton,  an'  beyond  are  many  —  it 
would  take  thee  years  to  visit  them.  Ah,  sor, 
half  me  time  I  live  in  the  Blessed  Isles. 
What  is  thy  affliction,  boy  ? " 

He  turned  to  Kent  —  a  boy  whose  hard  luck 
was  proverbial,  and  whose  left  arm  was  in  a 
sling. 

"  Broke  it  wrestling,"  said  the  boy. 

"Kent  has  bad  luck,"  said  Trove.  "Last 
year  he  broke  his  leg." 

"  Obey  the  law,  or  thou  shalt  break  the  bone 
o'  thy  neck,"  said  Barrel,  quickly. 

"  I  do  obey  the  law,"  said  Kent. 

"Ay  —  the  written  law,"  said  the  clock 
tinker,  "  an'  small  credit  to  thee.  But  the  law 
o'  thine  own  discovery,  —  the  law  that  is  for 
thyself  an'  no  other,  —  hast  thou  ne'er  thought 
of  it  ?  Ill  luck  is  the  penalty  o'  law-breaking. 
Therefore  study  the  law  that  is  for  thyself. 
Already  I  have  discovered  one  for  thee,  an'  it 
is,  '  I  have  not  limberness  enough  in  me  bones, 


76  DARREL 

so  I  must  put  them  in  no  unnecessary  peril.' 
Listen,  I'll  read  thee  me  own  code." 

The  clock  tinker  rose  and  got  his  Shakespeare, 
ragged  from  long  use,  and  read  from  a  fly-leaf, 
his  code  of  private  law,  to  wit :  — 

"  Walk  at  least  four  miles  a  day. 

"  Eat  no  pork  and  be  at  peace  with  thy  liver. 

"  Measure  thy  words  and  cure  a  habit  of 
exaggeration. 

"  Thine  eyes  are  faulty  —  therefore,  going  up 
or  down,  look  well  to  thy  steps. 

"  Beware  of  ardent  spirits,  for  the  curse  that 
is  in  thy  blood.  It  will  turn  thy  heart  to 
stone. 

"  In  giving,  remember  Barrel. 

"  Bandy  no  words  with  any  man. 

"  Play  at  no  game  of  chance. 

"  Think  o'  these  things  an'  forget  thyself." 

"  Now  there  is  the  law  that  is  for  me  alone," 
Barrel  continued,  looking  up  at  the  boys. 
"  Others  may  eat  pork  or  taste  the  red  cup, 
or  dally  with  hazards  an'  suffer  no  great  harm 
—  not  I.  Good  youths,  remember,  ill  luck  is 
for  him  only  that  is  ignorant,  neglectful,  or 
defiant  o'  private  law." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  77 

"  But  suppose  your  house  fall  upon  you," 
Trove  suggested. 

"  I  speak  not  o'  common  perils,"  said  the 
tinker.  "  But  enough — let's  up  with  the  sail. 
Heave  ho !  an'  away  for  the  Blessed  Isles. 
Which  shall  it  be  ? " 

He  turned  to  a  rude  shelf,  whereon  were 
books,  —  near  a  score,  —  some  worn  to  rags. 

"  What  if  it  be  yon  fair  Isle  o'  Milton  ? "  he 
inquired,  lifting  an  old  volume. 

"  Let's  to  the  Isle  o'  Milton,"  Trove  answered. 

"  Well,  go  to  one  o'  the  clocks  there,  an'  set 
it  back,"  said  the  tinker. 

"  How  much  ? "  Trove  inquired  with  a 
puzzled  look. 

"Well,  a  matter  o'  two  hundred  years,"  said 
Barrel,  who  was  now  turning  the  leaves.  "  List 
ye,  boy,  we're  up  to  the  shore  an'  hard  by  the 
city  gates.  How  sweet  the  air  o'  this  enchanted 

isle! 

" '  And  west  winds  with  musky  wing 
Down  the  cedarn  alleys  fling 
Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells.'" 

He  quoted  thoughtfully,  turning  the  leaves. 
Then  he  read  the  shorter  poems,  —  a  score  of 


78  DARREL 

them,  —  his  voice  sounding  the  noble  music  of 
the  lines.  It  was  revelation  for  those  raw 
youths  and  led  them  high.  They  forgot  the 
passing  of  the  hours  and  till  near  midnight 
were  as  those  gone  to  a  strange  country.  And 
they  long  remembered  that  night  with  Darrel 
of  the  Blessed  Isles. 


VIII 


Dust  of  Diamonds  in  the  Hour-glass 


HE  axe  of  Theron  Allen  had 
opened  the  doors  of  the  wilder 
ness.  One  by  one  the  great 
trees  fell  thundering  and  were 
devoured  by  fire.  Now  sheep 
and  cattle  were  grazing  on  the  bare  hills. 
Around  the  house  he  left  a  thicket  of  fir  trees 
that  howled  ever  as  the  wind  blew,  as  if  "  be 
cause  the  mighty  were  spoiled."  Neighbours 
had  come  near;  every  summer  great  rugs  of 
grain,  vari-hued,  lay  over  hill  and  dale. 

Allen  had  prospered,  and  begun  to  speculate 
in  cattle.  Every  year  late  in  April  he  went 
to  Canada  for  a  drove  and  sent  them  south  — 
a  great  caravan  that  filled  the  road  for  half  a 
mile  or  more,  tramping  wearily  under  a  cloud 
of  dust.  He  sold  a  few  here  and  there,  as  the 
drove  went  on — a  far  journey,  often,  to  the  sale 
of  the  last  lot. 

79 


8o  DARREL 

The  drove  came  along  one  morning  about 
the  middle  of  May,  1847.  Trove  met  them 
at  the  four  corners  on  Caraway  Pike.  Then 
about  sixteen  years  of  age,  he  made  his  first 
long  journey  into  the  world  with  Allen's  drove. 
He  had  his  time  that  summer  and  fifty  cents  for 
driving.  It  was  an  odd  business,  and  for  the 
boy  full  of  new  things. 

A  man  went  ahead  in  a  buckboard  wagon 
that  bore  provisions.  One  worked  in  the  mid 
dle  and  two  behind.  Trove  was  at  the  heels  of 
the  first  section.  It  was  easy  work  after  the 
cattle  got  used  to  the  road  and  a  bit  leg  weary. 
They  stopped  them  for  water  at  the  creeks  and 
rivers ;  slowed  them  down  to  browse  or  graze 
awhile  at  noontime  ;  and  when  the  sun  was  low, 
if  they  were  yet  in  a  land  of  fences,  he  of  the 
horse  and  wagon  hurried  on  to  get  pasturage 
for  the  night. 

That  first  day  some  of  the  leaders  had  begun 
to  wander  and  make  trouble.  For  that  reason 
Trove  was  walking  beside  the  buckboard  in 
front  of  the  drove. 

"  We'll  stop  to-night  on  Cedar  Hill,"  said  the 
boss,  about  mid-afternoon.  "  Martha  Vaughn 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  81 

has  got  the  best  pasture  and  the  prettiest  girl 
in  this  part  o'  the  country.  If  you  don't  fall  in 
love  with  that  girl,  you  ought  t'  be  licked." 

Now  Trove  had  no  very  high  opinion  of  girls. 
Up  there  in  Brier  Dale  he  had  seen  little  of 
them.  At  the  red  schoolhouse,  even,  they 
were  few  and  far  from  his  ideal.  And  they 
were  a  foolish  lot  there  in  Hillsborough,  it 
seemed  to  him  —  all  save  two  or  three  who  were, 
he  owned,  very  sweet  and  beautiful ;  but  he  had 
seen  how  they  tempted  other  boys  to  extrava 
gance,  and  was  content  with  a  sly  glance  at 
them  now  and  then. 

"I  don't  ever  expect  to  fall  in  love,"  said 
Trove,  confidently. 

"  Wai,  love  is  a  thing  that  always  takes  ye  by 
surprise,"  the  other  answered.  "  Mrs.  Vaughn 
is  a  widow,  an*  we  generally  stop  there  the  first 
day  out.  She's  a  poor  woman,  an'  it  gives  her  a 
lift." 

They  came  shortly  to  the  little  weather- 
stained  house  of  the  widow.  As  they  ap 
proached,  a  girl,  with  arms  bare  to  the  elbow, 
stood  looking  at  them,  her  hand  shading  her 
eyes. 


82  DARREL 

"  Co'  boss  !  Co'  boss  !  Co'  boss  !  "  she  was 
calling,  in  a  sweet,  girlish  treble. 

Trove  came  up  to  the  gate,  and  presently  her 
big,  dark  eyes  were  looking  into  his  own.  That 
very  moment  he  trembled  before  them  as  a  reed 
shaken  by  the  wind.  Long  after  then,  he  said 
that  something  in  her  voice  had  first  appealed  to 
him.  Her  soft  eyes  were,  indeed,  of  those  that 
quicken  the  hearts  of  men.  It  is  doubtful  if 
there  were,  in  all  the  world,  a  lovelier  thing 
than  that  wild  flower  of  girlhood  up  there  in 
the  hills.  She  was  no  dream  of  romance,  dear 
reader.  In  one  of  the  public  buildings  of  a 
certain  capital  her  portrait  has  been  hanging 
these  forty  years,  and  wins,  from  all  who  pass  it, 
the  homage  of  a  long  look.  But  Trove  said, 
often,  that  she  was  never  quite  so  lovely  as  that 
day  she  stood  calling  the  cows  —  her  shapely, 
brown  face  aglow  with  the  light  of  youth,  her 
dark  hair  curling  on  either  side  as  it  fell  to  her 
shoulders. 

"  Good  day,"  said  he,  a  little  embarrassed. 

"  Good  day,"  said  she,  coolly,  turning  toward 
the  house. 

Trove   was  now  in  the  midst   of   the  cattle. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  83 

Suddenly  a  dog  rushed  upon  them,  and  they 
took  fright.  For  a  moment  the  boy  was  in 
danger  of  being  trampled,  but  leaped  quickly  to 
the  backs  of  the  cows  and  rode  to  safety.  After 
supper  the  men  sat  talking  in  the  stable  door, 
beyond  which,  on  the  hay,  they  were  to  sleep 
that  night.  But  Trove  stood  a  long  time  with 
the  girl,  whose  name  was  Polly,  at  the  little 
gate  of  the  widow. 

They  seemed  to  meet  there  by  accident.  For 
a  moment  they  were  afraid  of  each  other. 
After  a  little  hesitation  Polly  picked  a  sprig 
of  lilac.  He  could  see  a  tremble  in  her  hand 
as  she  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  felt  his  own 
blushes. 

"  Couldn't  you  say  something  ? "  she  whis 
pered  with  a  smile. 

"  I  —  I've  been  trying  to  think  of  something," 
he  stammered. 

"  Anything  would  do,"  said  the  girl,  laughing, 
as  she  retreated  a  step  or  two  and  stood  with  an 
elbow  leaning  on  the  board  fence.  She  had  on 
her  best  gown. 

It  was  a  curious  interview,  the  words  of  small 
account,  the  silences  full  of  that  power  which 


84  DARREL 

has  been  the  very  light  of  the  world.  If  there 
were  only  some  way  of  reporting  what  followed 
the  petty  words, — swift  arrows  of  the  eye, 
lips  trembling  with  the  peril  of  unuttered 
thought,  faces  lighting  with  sweet  discovery  or 
darkening  with  doubt,  —  well,  the  author  would 
have  better  confidence. 

Their  glances  met  —  the  boy  hesitated. 

"I  —  don't  think  you  look  quite  as  lovely  in 
that  dress,"  he  ventured. 

A  shadow  of  disappointment  came  into  her 
face,  and  she  turned  away.  The  boy  was  em 
barrassed.  He  had  taken  a  misstep.  She  turned 
impatiently  and  gave  him  a  glance  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  But  you're  lovely  enough  now,"  he  ventured 
again. 

There  was  a  quick  movement  of  her  lips,  a 
flicker  of  contempt  in  her  eyes.  It  seemed  an 
age  before  she  answered  him. 

"  Flatterer ! "  said  she,  presently,  looking 
down  and  jabbing  the  fence  top  with  a  pin.  "  I 
suppose  you  think  I'm  very  homely." 

"  I  always  mean  what  I  say." 

"  Then  you'd  better  be  careful  —  you  might 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  85 

spoil  me."  She  smiled  faintly,  turning  her  face 
away. 

"  How  so  ? " 

"  Don't  you  know,"  said  she,  seriously,  "  that 
when  a  girl  thinks  she's  beautiful  she's  spoiled?" 

Their  blushes  had  begun  to  fade ;  their  words 
to  come  easier. 

"  Guess  I'm  spoilt,  too,"  said  the  boy,  looking 
away  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say 
—  but  sometime,  maybe,  you  will  know  me  bet 
ter  and  believe  me."  He  spoke  with  some 
dignity. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,"  the  girl  answered, 
coming  nearer  and  looking  into  his  eyes. 
"  You're  the  boy  that  came  out  of  the  woods  in 
a  little  red  sleigh." 

"How  did  you  know?"  Trove  inquired;  for 
he  was  not  aware  that  any  outside  his  own 
home  knew  it. 

"  A  man  told  us  that  came  with  the  cattle  last 
year.  And  he  said  you  must  belong  to  very 
grand  folks." 

"  And  how  did  he  know  that  ?  " 

"  By  your  looks." 

"By  my  looks?" 


86  DARREL 

"  Yes,  I  —  I  suppose  he  thought  you  didn't 
look  like  other  boys  around  here."  She  was 
now  plying  the  pin  very  attentively. 

"  I  must  be  a  very  curious-looking  boy." 

"  Oh,  not  very,"  said  she,  looking  at  him 
thoughtfully.  "I  —  I  —  well  I  shall  not  tell 
you  what  I  think."  She  spoke  decisively. 

She  had  begun  to  blush  again. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  they  both  looked  away, 
smiling.  Then  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  Don't  you  like  brown  ? "  She  was  now 
looking  down  at  her  dress,  with  a  little  show  of 
trouble  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  liked  the  brown  of  your  arms,"  he 
answered. 

The  pin  stopped;  there  was  a  puzzled  look 
in  her  face. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  a  very  homely  dress,  anyway," 
said  she,  looking  down  upon  it,  as  she  moved 
her  foot  impatiently. 

Her  mother  came  out  of  doors.  "  Polly,"  said 
she,  "you'd  better  go  over  to  the  post-office." 

"  May  I  go  with  her  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 

"  Ask  Polly,"  said  the  widow  Vaughn,  laughing. 

"  May  I  ?  "  he  asked. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  87 

Polly  turned  away  smiling.  "  If  you  care  to," 
said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  must  hurry  and  not  be  after  dark," 
said  the  widow. 

They  went  away,  but  only  the  moments  hur 
ried.  They  that  read  here,  though  their  heads 
be  gray  and  their  hearts  heavy,  will  understand ; 
for  they  will  remember  some  little  space  of 
time,  with  seconds  flashing  as  they  went,  like 
dust  of  diamonds  in  the  hour-glass. 

"  Don't  you  remember  how  you  came  in  the 
little  red  sleigh  ?  "  she  asked  presently. 

"  No." 

"  I  think  it's  very  grand,"  said  she.  "  It's  so 
much  like  a  story." 

"  Do  you  read  stories  ?  " 

"All  I  can  get.  I've  been  reading  'Grey- 
tower.'  " 

"  I  read  it  last  winter,"  said  the  boy.  "  What 
did  you  like  best  in  it  ? " 

"  I'm  ashamed  to  tell  you,"  said  she,  with  a 
quick  glance  at  him. 

"  Please  tell  me." 

"  Oh,  the  love  scenes,  of  course,"  said  she, 
looking  down  with  a  sigh,  and  a  little  hesitation. 


88  DARREL 

"  He  was  a  fine  lover." 

"  I've  something  in  my  eye,"  said  she,  stop 
ping. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  get  it,"  said  he ;  "  let  me  try." 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  hurt  me,"  said  she,  looking 
up  with  a  smile. 

"  I'll  be  careful." 

He  lifted  her  face  a  little,  his  fingers  beneath 
her  pretty  chin.  Then,  taking  her  long,  dark 
lashes  between  thumb  and  finger,  he  opened  the 
lids. 

"  You  are  hurting,"  said  she,  soberly ;  and 
now  the  lashes  were  trying  to  pull  free. 

"  I  can  see  it,"  said  he. 

"  It  must  be  a  bear  —  you  look  so  frightened." 

"  It's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  said  the  boy. 

"Well,  your  hands  tremble,"  said  she,  laugh 
ing. 

"  There,"  he  answered,  removing  a  speck  of 
dust  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  It  is  gone  now,  thank  you,"  said  Polly, 
winking. 

She  stood  close  to  him,  and  as  she  spoke  her 
lips  trembled.  He  could  delay  no  longer  with 
a  subject  knocking  at  the  gate  of  speech. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  89 

"  Do  you  believe  in  love  at  first  sight  ? "  he 
asked. 

She  turned,  looking  up  at  him  seriously.  Her 
lips  parted  in  a  smile  that  showed  her  white 
teeth.  Then  her  glance  fell.  "  I  shall  not  tell 
you  that,"  said  she,  in  a  half  whisper. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,"  he  said. 

"Do  you?"  said  she,  glancing  up  at  him 
shyly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  if  I  were  you  and  wanted  to  see  a 
girl,  —  I'd  —  I'd  come  and  see  her." 

"  What  if  you  didn't  know  whether  she  was 
willing  or  not  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I'd  take  my  chances,"  said  she,  soberly. 

There  were  pauses  in  which  their  souls  went 
far  beyond  their  words  and  seemed  to  embrace 
each  other  fondly  with  arms  of  the  spirit  invisi 
ble  and  resistless.  And  whatever  was  to  come, 
in  that  hour  the  great  priest  of  Love  in  the 
white  robe  of  innocence  had  made  them  one. 
The  air  about  them  was  full  of  strange  delight. 
They  were  in  deep  dusk  as  they  neared  the 
house.  For  one  moment  of  long-remembered 
joy  she  let  him  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  but 


90  BARREL 

when  he  kissed  her  cheek  she  drew  herself 
away. 

They  walked  a  little  time  in  silence. 

"  I  am  no  flirt,"  she  whispered  presently. 
Neither  spoke  for  a  moment. 

Then  she  seemed  to  feel  and  pity  his  emotion. 
Something  slowed  the  feet  of  both. 

"  There,"  she  whispered ;  "  you  may  kiss  my 
hand  if  you  care  to." 

He  kissed  the  pretty  hand  that  was  offered 
to  him,  and  her  whisper  seemed  to  ring  in  the 
dusky  silence  like  the  dying  rhythm  of  a  bell. 


IX 


Drove  and  Drovers 


e 


LITTLE  after  daybreak  they 
went  on  with  the  cows.  For 
half  a  mile  or  more  until  the 
little  house  had  sunk  below  the 
hill  crest  Trove  was  looking 


backward.  Now  and  ever  after  he  was  to  think 
and  tarry  also  in  the  road  of  life  and  look 
behind  him  for  the  golden  towers  of  memory. 
The  drovers  saw  a  change  in  Trove  and  flung  at 
him  with  their  stock  of  rusty,  ancestral  witti 
cisms.  But  Thurst  Tilly  had  a  way  of  saying 
and  doing  quite  his  own. 

"  Never  see  any  one  knocked  so  flat  as  you 
was,"  said  he.  "Ye  didn't  know  enough  t' 
keep  ahead  o'  the  cattle.  I  declare  I  thought 
they'd  trample  ye  'fore  ye  could  git  yer  eye 
unsot." 

Trove  made  no  answer. 
91 


92  DARREL 

"That  air  gal  had  a  mighty  power  in  her 
eye,"  Thurst  went  on.  "When  I  see  her 
totin'  you  off  las'  night  I  says  t'  the  boys,  says 
I,  'Sid  is  goin'  t'  git  stepped  on.  He  ain't 
never  goin'  t'  be  the  same  boy  ag'in.' " 

The  boy  held  his  peace,  and  for  days  neither 
ridicule  nor  excitement  —  save  only  for  the  time 
they  lasted  —  were  able  to  bring  him  out  of  his 
dream. 

That  night  they  came  to  wild  country,  where 
men  and  cattle  lay  down  to  rest  by  the  road 
way —  a  thing  Trove  enjoyed.  In  the  wagon 
were  bread  and  butter  and  boiled  eggs  and  tea 
and  doughnuts  and  cake  and  dried  herring. 
The  men  built  fires  and  made  tea  and  ate 
their  suppers,  and  sang,  as  the  night  fell, 
those  olden  ballads  of  the  frontier  —  "  Barbara 
Allen,"  "  Bonaparte's  Dream,"  or  the  "  Drover's 
Daughter." 

For  days  they  were  driving  in  the  wild  coun 
try.  At  bedtime  each  wound  himself  in  a 
blanket  and  lay  down  to  rest,  beneath  a  rude 
lean-to  if  it  were  raining,  but  mostly  under 
the  stars.  On  this  journey  Trove  got  his  habit 
of  sleeping  out-of-doors  in  fair  weather.  After 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  93 

it,  save  in  midwinter,  walls  seemed  to  weary 
and  roofs  to  smother  him.  The  drove  began 
to  low  at  daybreak,  and  soon  they  were  all 
cropping  the  grass  or  browsing  in  the  briers. 
Then  the  milking,  and  breakfast  over  a  camp 
fire,  and  soon  after  sunrise  they  were  all  tramp 
ing  in  the  road  again. 

It  was  a  pleasant  journey  —  the  waysides 
glowing  with  the  blue  of  violets,  the  green  of 
tender  grass,  the  thick-sown,  starry  gold  of 
dandelions.  Wild  fowl  crossed  the  sky  in 
wedge  and  battalion,  their  videttes  out,  their 
lines  now  firm,  now  wheeling  in  a  long  curve 
to  take  the  path .  of  the  wind.  Every  thicket 
was  a  fount  of  song  that  fell  to  silence  when 
darkness  came  and  the  low  chant  of  the 
marshes. 

When  they  came  into  settled  country  below 
the  big  woods  they  began  selling.  At  length 
the  drove  was  reduced  to  one  section;  Trove 
following  with  the  helper  named  Thurston 
Tilly,  familiarly  known  as  "Thurst." 

He  was  a  tall,  heavy,  good-natured  man, 
distinguished  for  fat,  happiness,  and  singular 
aptitudes.  He  had  lifted  a  barrel  of  salt  by 


94  DARREL 

the  chimes  and  put  it  on  a  wagon ;  once  he 
had  eaten  two  mince  pies  at  a  meal;  again 
he  had  put  his  heel  six  inches  above  his 
head  on  a  barn  door,  and,  any  time,  he  could 
wiggle  one  ear  or  both  or  whistle  on  his 
thumb.  At  every  lodging  place  he  had  left 
a  feeling  of  dread  and  relief  as  well  as  a 
perennial  topic  of  conversation.  At  every  inn 
he  added  something  to  his  stock  of  fat  and 
happiness.  Then,  often,  he  seemed  to  be  over 
loaded  with  the  latter  and  would  sit  and  shake 
his  head  and  roar  with  laughter,  now  and  then 
giving  out  a  wild  yell.  He  had  a  story  of 
which  no  one  had  ever  heard  the  finish.  He 
began  it  often,  but,  somehow,  never  got  to  the 
end.  He  always  clung  to  the  lapel  of  his 
hearer's  coat  as  if  in  fear  of  losing  him,  and 
never  tried  his  tale  but  once  on  the  same  pair 
of  ears.  Having  got  his  inspiration  he  went  in 
quest  of  his  hearer,  and  having  hitched  him, 
as  it  were,  by  laying  hold  of  his  elbow  or  coat 
collar,  began  the  tale.  It  was  like  pouring 
molasses  on  a  level  place  —  it  moved  slowly  and 
spread  and  got  nowhere  in  particular.  At 
first  his  manner  was  slow,  dignified,  and  con- 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  95 

fidential,  changing  to  fit  his  emotion.  He 
whispered,  he  shouted,  he  laughed,  he  looked 
sorrowful,  he  nudged  the  stranger  in  his  ab 
domen,  he  glared  upon  him,  eye  close  to 
eye,  he  shook  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  slowly 
wore  him  out.  Some  endured  long  and  were 
patient,  but  soon  or  late  all  began  to  back  and 
dodge,  and  finally  broke  away,  and  seeing  the 
hand  of  the  narrator  reach  for  them,  dodged 
quickly  and,  being  pursued,  ran.  Often  this 
odd  chase  took  them  around  trees  and  stumps 
and  buildings,  the  stranger  escaping,  frequently, 
through  some  friendly  door  which  he  could 
lock  or  hold  fast.  Then  Thurst,  knocking 
loudly,  gave  out  a  wild  yell  or  two,  peered  in 
at  the  nearest  window,  and  came  at  last  to 
his  chair,  sorrowful  and  much  out  of  breath, 
his  tale  unfinished.  There  was  in  the  man  a 
saving  element  of  good  nature,  and  no  one  ever 
got  angry  with  him.  At  each  new  attempt  he 
showed  a  grimmer  determination  to  finish,  but 
even  there,  in  a  land  of  strong  and  patient 
men,  not  one,  they  used  to  say,  had  ever  the 
endurance  to  hear  the  end  of  that  unfinished 
tale. 


96  DARREL 

It  was  not  easy  to  dispose  of  cattle  in  the 
southern  counties  that  year,  but  they  found  a 
better  market  as  they  bore  west,  and  were  across 
the  border  of  Ohio  when  the  last  of  the  drove 
were  sold.  That  done,  Trove  and  Thurst  Tilly 
took  the  main  road  to  Cleveland,  whence  they 
were  to  return  home  by  steamboat. 

It  led  them  into  woods  and  by  stumpy 
fields  and  pine-odoured  hamlets.  The  first  day 
of  their  walk  was  rainy,  and  they  went  up  a 
toteway  into  thick  timber  and  built  a  fire  and 
kept  dry  and  warm  until  the  rain  ceased.  That 
evening  they  fell  in  with  emigrants  on  their 
way  to  the  far  west. 

The  latter  were  camped  on  the  edge  of  a 
wood,  near  the  roadway,  and  cooking  supper  as 
the  two  came  along.  Being  far  from  a  town, 
Trove  and  Tilly  were  glad  to  accept  the  hospi 
tality  of  the  travellers. 

They  had  come  to  the  great  highway  of  travel 
from  east  to  west.  Every  day  it  was  cut  by 
wagons  of  the  mover  overloaded  with  Lares  and 
Penates,  with  old  and  young,  enduring  hardships 
and  the  loss  of  home  and  old  acquaintance  for 
hope  of  better  fortune. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  97 

A  man  and  wife  and  three  boys  were  the  party, 
travelling  with  two  wagons.  They  were  bound 
for  Iowa  and,  being  heavy  loaded,  were  having 
a  hard  time.  All  sat  on  a  heap  of  boughs  in 
the  firelight  after  supper. 

"  It's  a  long,  long  road  to  Iowa,  father,"  said 
the  woman. 

"  It'll  soon  be  over,"  said  he,  with  a  tone  of 
encouragement. 

"  I've  been  thinking  all  day  of  the  lilacs  and 
the  old  house,"  said  she. 

They  looked  in  silence  at  the  fire  a  moment. 

"  We're  a  bit  homesick,"  said  the  man,  turn 
ing  to  Trove,  "  an'  no  wonder.  It's  been  hard 
travelling,  an'  we've  broke  down  every  few  miles. 
But  we'll  have  better  luck  the  rest  o'  the  jour 
ney." 

Evidently  his  cheerful  courage  had  been  all 
that  kept  them  going. 

"  Lost  all  we  had  in  the  great  fire  of  '35,"  said 
he,  thoughtfully.  "  I  went  to  bed  a  rich  man, 
but  when  I  rose  in  the  morning  I  had  not  enough 
to  pay  a  week's  board.  Everything  had  been 
swept  away." 

"  A  merchant  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 


98  DARREL 

"  A  partner  in  the  great  Star  Mill  on  East 
River,"  said  the  man.  "  I  could  have  got  a  for 
tune  for  my  share  —  at  least  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  — and  I  had  worked  hard  for  it." 

"  And  were  you  not  able  to  succeed  again  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  traveller,  sadly,  shaking  his 
head.  "  If  some  time  you  have  to  lose  all  you 
possess,  God  grant  you  still  have  youth  and  a 
strong  arm.  I  tried  —  that  is  all — I  tried." 

The  boy  looked  up  at  him,  his  heart  touched. 
The  man  was  near  sixty  years  of  age  ;  his  face 
had  deep  lines  in  it ;  his  voice  the  dull  ring  of 
loss,  and  failure,  and  small  hope.  The  woman 
covered  her  face  and  began  to  sob. 

"  There,  mother,"  said  the  man,  touching  her 
head;  "we'd  better  forget.  I'll  never  speak 
of  that  again  —  never.  We're  going  to  seek  our 
fortune.  Away  in  the  great  west  we'll  seek  our 
fortune." 

His  effort  to  be  cheerful  was  perhaps  the  rich 
est  colour  of  that  odd  scene  there  in  the  still 
woods  and  the  firelight. 

"We're  going  to  take  a  farm  in  the  most 
beautiful  country  in  the  world.  It's  easy  to 
make  money  there." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  99 

"If  you've  no  objection  I'd  like  to  go  with 
you,"  said  Thurst  Tilly.  "I'm  a  good  farmer." 

"  Can  you  drive  a  team  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"Drove  horses  all  my  life,"  said  Thurst; 
whereupon  they  made  a  bargain. 

Trove  and  Tilly  went  away  to  the  brook  for 
water  while  the  travellers  went  to  bed  in  their 
big,  covered  wagon.  Trove  lay  down  with  his 
blanket  on  the  boughs,  reading  over  the  indeli 
ble  record  of  that  day.  And  he  said,  often,  as 
he  thought  of  it,  years  after,  that  the  saddest 
thing  in  all  the  world  is  a  man  of  broken 
courage. 


An  Odd  Meeting 


HEY   were   up   betimes   in   the 

rpfl   morning,  and  Trove  ate  hastily 
(3    from   his  own  store  and  bade 
them  all  good-by  and  made  off, 
for  he  had  yet  a  long  road  to 
travel. 

That  day  Trove  fell  in  with  a  great,  awk 
ward  country  boy,  slouching  along  the  road 
on  his  way  to  Cleveland.  He  was  an  odd 
figure,  with  thick  hair  of  the  shade  of  tow 
that  burst  out  from  under  a  slouch  hat  and 
muffled  his  neck  behind ;  his  coat  was  thread 
bare  and  a  bit  too  large ;  his  trousers  of  satinet 
fell  loosely  far  enough  to  break  joints  with 
each  bootleg;  the  dusty  cowhide  gave  his  feet 
a  lonely  and  arid  look.  He  carried  a  bundle 
tied  to  a  stick  that  lay  on  his  left  shoulder. 
They  met  near  a  corner,  nodded,  and  walked 

100 


DARREL  1 01 

on  a  while  together  in  silence.  For  a  little 
time  they  surveyed  each  other  curiously. 
Then  each  began  to  quicken  the  pace. 

"  Maybe  you  think  you  can  walk  the  fast 
est,"  said  he  of  the  long  hair. 

They  were  going  a  hot  pace,  their  free 
arms  flying.  Trove  bent  to  his  work  stub 
bornly.  They  both  began  to  tire  and  slow 
up.  The  big  boy  looked  across  at  the  other 
and  laughed  loudly. 

"Wouldn't  give  up  if  ye  broke  a  leg,  would 
ye?"  said  he. 

"  Not  if  I  could  swing  it,"  said  Trove. 

"Coin'  t'  Cleveland?" 

"Yes;  are  you?" 

"Yes.  I'm  goin'  t'  be  a  sailor,"  said  the 
strange  boy. 

"  Coin*  off  on  the  ocean  ? "  Trove  inquired 
with  deep  interest. 

"Yes;  'round  the  world,  maybe.  Then  I'll 
come  back  an'  go  t'  school  —  if  I  don't  git 
wrecked  like  Robi'son  Crusoe." 

"  My  stars  !  "  said  Trove,  with  a  look  of  awe. 

"  Like  t'  go  ?  "  the  other  inquired. 

"Guess  I  would!" 


102  BARREL 

"  Better  stay  t'  home ;  it's  a  hard  life." 
This  with  an  air  of  parental  wisdom. 

"  I've  read  '  Robi'son  Crusoe,'  "  said  Trove, 
as  if  it  were  some  excuse. 

"  So  've  I ;  an'  Grimshaw's  *  Napoleon,'  an' 
Weems's  'Life  o'  Marion,'  an'  'The  Pirates' 
Book,'  an'  the  Bible." 

"I've  got  half  through  the  Bible,"  said 
Trove. 

"Who  slew  Absolum  ? "  the  other  inquired 
doubtfully. 

Trove  remembered  the  circumstances,  but 
couldn't  recall  the  name. 

They  sat  down  to  rest  and  eat  luncheon. 

"  You  going  to  be  a  statesman  ? "  Trove  in 
quired. 

"No;  once  I  thought  I'd  try  t'  go  t'  Con 
gress,  but  I  guess  I'd  rather  go  t'  sea.  What 
you  goin'  t'  be  ?  " 

"  I  shall  try  to  be  an  author,"  said  Trove. 

"  Why,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  go  into  politics," 
said  the  other.  "  Ye  might  be  President  some 
day,  no  telling.  Do  ye  know  how  t'  chop  er 
hoe  er  swing  a  scythe  ? " 

"Yes." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  103 

"Wai,  then,  if  ye  don't  ever  git  t'  be  Presi 
dent,  ye  won't  have  t'  starve,  I  saw  an  author 
one  day." 

"You  did?" 

"  He  was  an  awful-lookin'  cuss,"  said  the 
other,  with  a  nod  of  affirmation. 

The  strange  boy  took  another  bite  of  bread 
and  butter. 

"Wrote  dime  novels  an'  drank  whisky  an* 
wore  a  bearskin  vest,"  he  added  presently. 
"  Do  you  know  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence  ? " 

"  No." 

"I  do,"  said  the  strange  boy,  and  gave  it 
word  for  word. 

They  chatted  and  tried  tricks  and  spent  a 
happy  hour  there  by  the  roadside.  It  was  an 
hour  of  pure  democracy  —  neither  knew  even 
the  name  of  the  other  so  far. 

They  got  to  Cleveland  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"Now  keep  yer  hand  on  yer  wallet,"  said 
the  strange  boy,  as  they  were  coming  into  the 
city.  "  I've  got  three  dollars  an'  seventy-five 
cents  in  mine,  an'  I  don't  propose  t'  have  it 
took  away  from  me." 


104  DARREL 

Trove  went  to  a  tavern,  the  other  to  stay 
with  friends.  Near  noon  next  day  both  boys 
met  on  the  wharf,  where  Trove  was  to  board 
a  steamboat. 

"  Got  a  job  ? "  Trove  inquired. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  with  a  look  of  dejec 
tion.  "  I  tried,  an'  they  cursed  an'  damned 
me  awful.  I  got  away  as  quick  as  I  could. 
Dunno  but  I'll  have  t'  go  back  an'  try  t'  be 
a  statesman  er  something  o'  that  kind.  Guess 
it's  easier  than  goin'  t'  sea.  Give  me  yer 
name  an'  address,  an'  maybe  I'll  write  ye  a 
letter." 

Trove  complied. 

"Please  give  me  yours,"  said  he. 

"It's  James  Abram  Garfield,  Orange,  O.," 
said  the  other. 

Then  they  spoke  a  long  good-by. 


XI 


The  Old  Rag  Doll 


I 

$ 

\ 

r 

i 
i 

HE  second  week  of  September 
Trove  went  down  the  hills 
again  to  school,  with  food  and 
furniture  beside  him  in  the 
great  wagon.  He  had  not  been 
happy  since  he  got  home.  Word  of  that  even 
ing  with  the  pretty  "  Vaughn  girl "  had  come  to 
the  ears  of  Allen. 

"You're  too  young  for  that,  boy,"  said  he, 
the  day  Trove  came.  "  You  must  promise  me 
one  thing  —  that  you'll  keep  away  from  her 
until  you  are  eighteen." 

In  every  conviction  Allen  was  like  the  hills 
about  him  —  there  were  small  changes  on  the 
surface,  but  underneath  they  were  ever  the 
same  rock-boned,  firm,  unmoving  hills. 

"  But  I'm  in   love  with    her,"  said  the  boy, 
with    dignity.      "  It   is  more  than   I   can  bear. 
I05 


106  BARREL 

I  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  regard  the  young  lady 
with  —  with  deep  affection."  He  had  often  a 
dignity  of  phrase  and  manner  beyond  his  years. 

"Then  it  will  last,"  said  Allen.  "You're 
only  a  boy,  and  for  a  while  I  know  what  is  best 
for  you." 

Trove  had  to  promise,  and,  as  that  keen  edge 
of  his  feeling  wore  away,  doubted  no  more  the 
wisdom  of  his  father.  He  wrote  Polly  a  letter, 
quaint  with  boyish  chivalry  and  frankness  — 
one  of  a  package  that  has  lain  these  many 
years  in  old  ribbons  and  the  scent  of  lavender. 

He  went  to  the  Sign  of  the  Dial  as  soon  as  he 
got  to  Hillsborough  that  day.  Barrel  was  at 
home,  and  a  happy  time  it  was,  wherein  each 
gave  account  of  the  summer.  A  stranger  sat 
working  at  the  small  bench.  Barrel  gave  him 
no  heed,  chatting  as  if  they  were  quite  alone. 

"And  what  is  the  news  in  Hillsborough?" 
said  Trove,  his  part  of  the  story  finished. 

"  Have  ye  not  heard  ? "  said  Barrel,  in  a 
whisper.  "  Parson  Hammond  hath  swapped 
horses." 

Trove  began  to  laugh. 

"Nay,  that  is  not  all,"   said   the   tinker,  his 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  107 

pipe  in  hand.  "  Deacon  Swackhammer  hath 
smitten  the  head  o'  Brooke.  Oh,  sor,  'twas  a 
comedy.  Brooke  gave  him  an  ill-sounding 
word.  Swackhammer  removed  his  coat  an' 
flung  it  down.  '  Deacon,  lie  there,'  said  he. 
Then  each  began,  as  it  were,  to  bruise  the  head 
o'  the  serpent.  Brooke  —  poor  man  !  —  he  got 
the  worst  of  it.  An'  sad  to  tell !  his  wife  died 
the  very  next  day." 

"  Of  what  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 

"  Marry,  I  do  not  know ;  it  may  have  been 
joy,"  said  the  tinker,  lighting  his  pipe.  "  Ah, 
sor,  Brooke  is  tough.  He  smites  the  helping 
hand  an'  sickens  the  heart  o'  kindness.  I  offered 
him  help  an'  sympathy,  an'  he  made  it  all  bitter 
with  suspicion  o'  me.  I  turned  away,  an'  said  I 
to  meself ,  '  Darrel,  thy  head  is  soft  —  a  babe 
could  brain  thee  with  a  lady's  fan.'  " 

Darrel  puffed  his  pipe  in  silence  a  little  time. 

"  Every  one  hates  Brooke,"  said  Trove. 

"  Once,"  said  Darrel,  presently,  "  a  young 
painter  met  a  small  animal  with  a  striped  back, 
in  the  woods.  They  exchanged  compliments  an' 
suddenly  the  painter  ran,  shaking  his  head.  As 
he  came  near  his  own  people,  they  all  began 


io8  DARREL 

to  flee  before  him.  He  followed  them  for  days, 
an'  every  animal  in  the  woods  ran  as  he  came 
near.  By  an'  by  he  stopped  to  rest.  Then 
he  looked  down  at  himself  an'  spat,  sneeringly. 
When,  after  weeks  o'  travel,  he  was  at  length 
admitted  to  the  company  of  his  kind,  they  sat 
in  judgment  on  him. 

" '  Tell  us,'  said  one,  '  what  evil  hath  befallen 
thee  ? ' 

"  '  Alas  ! '  said  the  poor  cat,  '  I  met  a  little 
creature  with  a  striped  back.' 

" '  A  little  creature  !  an'  thee  so  put  about  ? ' 
said  another,  with  great  contempt. 

" '  Ay ;  but  he  hath  a  mighty  talent,'  said  the 
sad  painter.  *  Let  him  but  stand  before  thee,  an' 
he  hath  spoiled  the  earth,  an'  its  people,  an'  thou 
would'st  even  flee  from  thyself.  But  in  fleeing 
thou  shalt  think  thyself  on  the  way  to  hell.'  " 

For  a  moment  Barrel  shook  with  silent  laugh 
ter.  Then  he  rose  and  put  his  pipe  on  the 
shelf. 

"Well,  I'd  another  chance  to  try  the  good 
law  on  him,"  said  Barrel,  presently.  "  In  July  he 
fell  sick  o'  fever,  an'  I  delayed  me  trip  to  nurse 
him.  At  length,  when  he  was  nearly  well,  an' 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  109 

I  had  come  to  his  home  one  evening,  the  widow 
Glover  met  me  at  his  door. 

" '  If  ye  expect  money  fer  comin'  here,  ye 
better  go  on  'bout  yer  business,'  Brooke  shouted 
from  the  bedroom.  '  I  don't  need  ye  any  more, 
an*  I'll  send  ye  a  bushel  o'  potatoes  by  'n  by. 
Good  day.' 

"Not  a  word  o'  thanks!"  the  tinker  ex 
claimed.  "  Wrath  o'  God  !  I  fear  there  is  but 
one  thing  would  soften  him." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"A  club,"  said  Barrel.  "But  God  forgive 
me !  I  must  put  away  anger.  Soon  it  went 
about  that  Brooke  was  to  marry  the  widow. 
All  were  delighted,  for  each  party  would  be  in 
the  nature  of  a  punishment.  God's  justice ! 
they  did  deserve  each  other." 

Barrel  shook  with  happiness,  and  relighted 
his  pipe. 

"  Mayhap  ye've  seen  the  dear  lady,"  Barrel 
went  on.  "  She  is  large,  bony,  quarrelsome  — 
a  weaver  of  some  fifty  years  —  neither  amiable 
nor  fair  to  look  upon.  Every  one  knows  her — 
a  survivor  o'  two  husbands  an'  many  a  battle 
o'  high  words. 


no  DARREL 

"  '  Is  it  a  case  o'  foreclosure,  Brooke  ? '  says  I 
to  him  one  day  in  the  road. 

"  '  No,  sor,'  he  snaps  out ;  *  I  had  a  little  mort 
gage  on  her  furniture,  but  I'm  going  t'  marry 
her  for  a  helpmeet.  She  is  a  great  worker  an' 
neat  an'  savin'.' 

"'An'  headstrong,'  says  I.  'Ye  must  have 
patience  with  her.' 

"  '  I  can  manage  her,'  said  Brooke.  '  The 
first  morning  after  we  are  married  I  always  say 
to  my  wife,  "  Here's  the  breeches ;  now  if  ye 
want  'em,  take  'em,  an'  I'll  put  on  the  dress."  ' 

"  He  looked  wise,  then,  as  if  'twere  a  great 
argument. 

"  '  Always  ? '  says  I.  *  God  bless  thee,  'tis  an 
odd  habit' 

"  Well,  the  boast  o'  Brooke  went  from  one  to 
another  an'  at  last  to  the  widow's  ear.  They 
say  a  look  o'  firmness  an*  resolution  came 
into  her  face,  an'  late  in  August  they  were 
married  of  an  evening  at  the  home  o'  Brooke. 
Well,  about  then,  I  had  been  having  trouble." 

"  Trouble  ?  "  said  Trove. 

"  It  was  another's  trouble  —  that  of  a  client 
o'  mine,  a  poor  woman  out  in  the  country. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  in 

Brooke  had  a  mortgage  on  her  cattle,  an'  she 
could  not  pay,  an'  I  undertook  to  help  her. 
I  had  some  money  due  me,  but  was  unable  to 
put  me  hand  on  it.  That  day  before  the 
wedding  I  went  to  the  old  sinner. 

"  *  Brooke,  I  came  to  see  about  the  Martha 
Vaughn  mortgage,'  says  I." 

"  Martha  Vaughn ! "  said  Trove,  turning 
quickly. 

"  Yes,  one  o'  God's  people,"  said  the  tinker. 
"  Ye  may  have  seen  her  ? " 

"  I  have  seen  her,"  said  Trove. 

"  *  At  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  I  shall  foreclose,' 
says  Brooke,  waving  his  fist. 

"'Give  her  a  little  time  — till  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  —  man,  it  is  not  much  to  ask,'  says  I. 

"  '  Not  an  hour,'  says  he  ;  an'  I  came  away." 

Barrel  rose  and  put  on  his  glasses  and 
brought  a  newspaper  and  gave  it  to  the  boy. 

"  Read  that,"  said  he,  his  finger  on  the  story, 
"  an'  see  what  came  of  it." 

The  article  was  entitled  "  A  Rag  Doll  —  The 
Story  of  a  Money-lender  whose  Name,  let  us 
say,  is  Brown." 

After    some    account   of   the   marriage    and 


ii2  DARREL 

of    bride   and   groom,    the    story   went   on    as 
follows  :  — 

"  At  midnight  the  charivari  was  heard  - 
a  noisy  beating  of  pans  and  pots  in  the  door- 
yard  of  the  unhappy  groom,  who  flung 
sticks  of  wood  from  the  window,  and  who 
finally  dispersed  the  crowd  with  an  old  shot 
gun.  Bright  and  early  next  day  came  the 
milkman  —  a  veteran  of  the  war  of  1812  — 
who,  agreeably  with  his  custom,  sounded 
the  call  of  boots  and  saddles  on  his  battered 
bugle  at  Brown's  door.  But  none  came  to 
open  it.  The  noon  hour  passed  with  no 
sign  of  life  in  the  old  house. 

"  '  Suthin'  hes  happened  over  there/  said 
his  nearest  neighbour,  peering  out  of  the 
window.  '  Mebbe  they've  fit  an'  disabled 
each  other.' 

"  '  You'd  better  go  an'  rap  on  the  door,' 
said  his  wife. 

"  He  started,  halting  at  his  gate  and  look 
ing  over  at  the  house  of  mystery.  While 
he  stood  there,  the  door  of  the  money 
lender  opened  a  little,  and  a  head  came  out 
beckoning  for  help.  He  hurried  to  the 
door,  that  swung  open  as  he  came  near  it. 

"  '  Heavens  ! '  said  he.  '  What  is  the 
matter  ? ' 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  113 

"  Brown  stood  behind  the  door,  in  a  gown 
of  figured  calico,  his  feet  bare,  his  shock  of 
gray  hair  dishevelled.  The  gown  was  a 
poor  fit,  stopping  just  below  the  knees. 

"  *  That  woman  ! '  he  gasped,  sinking  into 
a  chair  and  making  an  angry  gesture  with 
his  fist.  '  That  woman  has  got  every  pair 
o'  breeches  in  the  house.' 

"  His  wife  appeared  in  the  rusty,  familiar 
garments  of  the  money-lender. 

"  '  He  tried  to  humble  me  this  morning,' 
said  she,  *  an'  I  humbled  him.  He  began 
to  order  me  around,  an'  I  told  him  I 
wouldn't  hev  it.  "  Then,"  says  he,  "  you 
better  put  on  the  breeches  an'  I'll  put  on 
the  dress."  "Very  well,"  says  I,  and 
grabbed  the  breeches,  an'  give  him  the 
dress.  I  know  ye,  Brown ;  ye'll  never 
abuse  me.' 

"  '  I'll  get  a  divorce  —  I'll  have  the  law  on 
ye,'  said  the  old  man,  angrily,  as  he  walked 
the  floor  in  his  gown  of  calico. 

"'Go  on,'  said  she.  *  Go  to  the  lawyer 
now.' 

"  *  Will  ye  git  me  a  pair  o'  breeches  ? ' 

"  '  No  ;  I  took  yer  offer,  an'  ye  can't  have 
'em  'til  ye've  done  the  work  that  goes  with 
the  dress.  Come,  now,  I  want  my  dinner.' 

"  '  I  can't  find  a  stitch  in  the  house,'  said 


H4  DARREL 

he,  turning  to  his  neighbour.  '  I  wish  ye'd 
bring  me  some  clothes.' 

"The  caller  made  no  reply,  but  came 
away  smiling,  and  told  of  Brown's  dilemma. 

"  '  It's  good  for  him,'  said  the  neighbour's 
wife.  '  Don't  ye  take  him  any  clothes. 
He's  bullied  three  wives  to  death,  an'  now 
I'm  glad  he's  got  a  wife  that  can  bully  him.' 

"  Brown  waited  long,  but  no  help  arrived. 
The  wife  was  firm  and  he  very  hungry. 
She  called  him  '  wife '  —  a  title  not  calcu 
lated  to  soothe  a  man  of  his  agility  and 
vigour.  He  galloped  across  the  room  at  her, 
yelling  as  he  brandished  a  poker.  She 
quickly  took  it  away  and  drove  him  into  a 
corner.  He  had  taken  up  the  poker  and 
now  seemed  likely  to  perish  by  it.  Then, 
going  to  the  stove  with  this  odd  weapon, 
she  stuck  its  end  in  the  fire,  and  Brown  had 
no  sooner  flung  a  wash-basin  across  the 
room  at  her  head  than  she  ran  after  him 
with  the  hot  poker.  Then,  calling  for  help, 
he  ran  around  the  stove  and  out  of  doors 
like  a  wild  man,  his  dress  of  calico  and  his 
long  hair  flying  in  the  breeze.  Pedestrians 
halted,  men  and  women  came  out  of  their 
homes.  The  bare  feet  of  the  money-lender 
were  flying  with  great  energy. 

"  '  She's  druv  him  crazy,'  a  man  shouted. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  115 

"  '  An'  knocked  the  socks  off  him,'  said 
another. 

"  '  Must  have  been  tryin'  t'  make  him  into 
a  rag  doll,'  was  the  comment  of  a  third. 

"  '  Brown,  if  yer  goin'  t'  be  a  womern,'  said 
one,  as  they  surrounded  him,  *  ye'd  ought 
to  put  on  a  longer  dress.  Yer  enough  t' 
scare  a  hoss.' 

"  Brown  was  inarticulate  with  anger. 

"  A  number  of  men  judging  him  insane, 
seized  and  returned  him  to  his  punishment. 
They  heard  the  unhappy  story  with  loud 
laughter. 

" '  You'd  better  give  up  an'  go  to  the 
kitchen,  Brown/  said  one  of  them;  and 
there  are  those  who  maintain  that  he  got 
the  dinner  before  he  got  the  trousers." 

"Well,  God  be  praised!"  said  Barrel,  when 
Trove  had  finished  reading  the  story ;  "  Brooke 
was  unable  to  foreclose  that  day,  an'  the  next 
was  Sunday,  an'  bright  an'  early  on  Monday 
morning  I  paid  the  debt." 

"  Mrs.  Vaughn  has  a  daughter,"  said  Trove, 
blushing. 

"  Ay ;  an'  she  hath  a  pretty  redness  in  her 
lip,"  said  Darrel,  quickly,  "  an'  a  merry  flash  in 
her  eye.  Thou  hast  yet  far  to  go,  boy.  Look 


n6  DARREL 

not  upon  her  now,  or  she  will  trip  thee.  By 
an'  by,  boy,  by  an'  by." 

There  was  an  odd  trait  in  Barrel.  In  familiar 
talk  he  often  made  use  of  "ye" — a  shortened 
you  —  in  speaking  to  those  of  old  acquaintance. 
But  when  there  was  man  or  topic  to  rouse  him 
into  higher  dignity  it  was  more  often  "  thee  "  or 
"  thou  "  with  him.  Trove  made  no  answer  and 
shortly  went  away. 

In  certain  court  records  one  may  read  of  the 
celebrated  suit  for  divorce  which  enlivened  the 
winter  of  that  year  in  the  north  country.  It 
is  enough  to  quote  the  ringing  words  of  one 
Colonel  Jenkins,  who  addressed  the  judge  as 
follows  :  — 

"  Picture  to  yourself,  sir,  this  venerable  man, 
waking  from  his  dream  of  happiness  to  be 
robbed  of  his  trousers  —  the  very  insignia  of  his 
manhood.  Picture  him,  sir,  sitting  in  calico  and 
despair,  mingled  with  hunger  and  humiliation. 
Think  of  him  being  addressed  as  '  wife.'  Being 
called  'wife,'  sir,  by  this  woman  he  had -taken 
to  his  heart  and  home.  That,  your  Honour, 
was  ingratitude  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth. 
Picture  him  driven  from  his  fireside  in  skirts,  — 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  117 

the  very  drapery  of  humiliation,  —  skirts,  your 
Honour,  that  came  barely  to  the  knees  and  left 
his  nether  limbs  exposed  to  the  autumnal  breeze 
and  the  ridicule  of  the  unthinking.  Sir,  it  is  for 
you  to  say  how  far  the  widow  may  go  in  her 
oppression.  If  such  conduct  is  permitted,  in 
God's  name,  who  is  safe  ?  " 

"  May  it  please  your  Honour,"  said  the  oppos 
ing  lawyer,  "  having  looked  upon  these  pictures 
of  the  learned  counsel,  it  is  for  you  to  judge 
whether  you  ever  saw  any  that  gave  you  greater 
joy.  They  are  above  all  art,  your  Honour.  In 
the  galleries  of  memory  there  are  none  like 
them  —  none  so  charming,  so  delightful.  If  I 
were  to  die  to-morrow,  sir,  I  should  thank  God 
that  my  last  hour  came  not  until  I  had  seen 
these  pictures  of  Colonel  Jenkins ;  and  it  may 
be  sir,  that  my  happiness  would  even  delay  the 
hand  of  death.  My  only  regret  is  that  mine  is 
the  great  misfortune  of  having  failed  to  wit 
ness  the  event  they  portray.  Sir,  you  have  a 
great  responsibility,  for  you  have  to  judge 
whether  human  law  may  interfere  with  the  work 
ing  of  divine  justice.  It  was  the  decree  of  fate, 
your  Honour,  following  his  own  word  and  action, 


ii8  DARREL 

that  this  man  should  become  as  a  rag  doll  in  the 
hands  of  a  termagant.  I  submit  to  you  that 
Providence,  in  the  memory  of  the  living,  has 
done  no  better  job." 

A  tumult  of  applause  stopped  him,  and  he  sat 
down. 

Brooke  was  defeated  promptly,  and  known 
ever  after  as  "The  Old  Rag  Doll." 


XII 

TJie  Santa  Claus  of  Cedar  Hill 


c 


HRISTMAS  Eve  had  come  and 
the  year  of  1850.  For  two 
weeks  snow  had  rushed  over 
the  creaking  gable  of  the  forest 
above  Martha  Vaughn's,  to  pile 
in  drifts  or  go  hissing  down  the  long  hillside. 
A  freezing  blast  had  driven  it  to  the  roots  of  the 
stubble  and  sown  it  deep  and  rolled  it  into 
ridges  and  whirled  it  into  heaps  and  mounds, 
or  flung  it  far  in  long  waves  that  seemed  to 
plunge,  as  if  part  of  a  white  sea,  and  break  over 
fence  and  roof  and  chimney  in  their  downrush. 
Candle  and  firelight  filtered  through  frosty 
panes  and  glowed,  dimly,  under  dark  fathoms 
of  the  snow  sheet  now  flying  full  of  voices. 
Mrs.  Vaughn  opened  her  door  a  moment  to 
peer  out.  A  great  horned  owl  flashed  across 
the  light  beam  with  a  snap  and  rustle  of  wings 
119 


120  DARREL 

and  a  cry  "oo-oo-oo,"  lonely,  like  that,  as  if  it 
were  the  spirit  of  darkness  and  the  cold  wind. 
Mrs.  Vaughn  started,  turning  quickly  and  clos 
ing  the  door. 

"  Ugh !  what  a  sound,"  said  Polly.  "  It 
reminds  me  of  a  ghost  story." 

"Well,"  said  the  widow,  "that  thing  belongs 
to  the  only  family  o'  real  ghosts  in  the  world." 

"What  was  it?"  said  a  small  boy.  There 
were  Polly  and  three  children  about  the  fire 
place. 

"An  air  cat,"  said  she,  shivering,  her  back  to 
the  fire.  "  They  go  'round  at  night  in  a  great 
sheet  o'  feathers  an'  rustle  it,  an'  I  declare  they 
do  cry  lonesome.  Got  terrible  claws,  too  !  " 

"  Ever  hurt  folks  ?  "  one  of  the  boys  inquired. 

"No;  but  they're  just  like  some  kinds  o' 
people  —  ye  want  to  let  'em  alone.  Any  one 
that'll  shake  hands  with  an  owl  would  be  fool 
enough  to  eat  fish-hooks.  They're  not  made  for 
friendship  —  those  owls." 

"  What  are  they  made  for  ? "  another  voice 
inquired. 

"  Just  to  kill,"  said  she,  patting  a  boy's  head 
tenderly.  "They're  Death  flying  round  at 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  121 

night  —  the  angel  o'  Death  for  rats  an'  rabbits 
an'  birds  an'  other  little  creatures.  Once, — 
oh,  many  years  ago,  —  it  seemed  so  everything 
was  made  to  kill.  Men  were  like  beasts  o' 
prey,  most  of  'em ;  an'  they're  not  all  gone  yet. 
Went  around  day  an'  night  killing.  I  declare 
they  must  have  had  claws.  Then  came  the 
Prince  o'  Peace." 

"What  did  he  do  to  'em,  mother?"  said 
Paul  —  a  boy  of  seven. 

"Well,  he  began  to  cut  their  claws  for  one 
thing,"  said  the  mother.  "Taught  'em  to  love 
an'  not  to  kill.  Shall  I  read  you  the  story  — 
how  he  came  in  a  manger? " 

"  B'lieve  I'd  rather  hear  about  Injuns,"  said 
the  boy. 

"  We  shall  hear  about  them  too,"  the  mother 
added.  "They're  like  folks  o'  the  olden  time. 
They  make  a  terrible  fuss;  but  they've  got  to 
hold  still  an'  have  their  claws  cut." 

Presently  she  sat  down  by  a  table,  where 
there  were  candles,  and  began  reading  aloud 
from  a  county  paper.  She  read  anecdotes  of 
men,  remarkable  for  their  success  and  piety,  and 
an  account  of  Indian  fighting,  interrupted,  as  a 


122  BARREL 

red  man  lifted  his  tomahawk  to  slay,  by  the 
rattle  of  an  arrow  on  the  buttery  door. 

It  was  off  the  cross-gun  of  young  Paul.  He 
had  seen  everything  in  the  story  and  had  taken 
aim  at  the  said  Indian  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 

She  read,  also,  the  old  sweet  story  of  the  com 
ing  of  the  Christ  Child. 

"  Some  say  it  was  a  night  like  this,"  said  she, 
as  the  story  ended. 

Paul  had  listened,  his  thin,  sober  face 
glowing. 

"  I'll  bet  Santa  Claus  was  good  to  him,"  said 
he.  "  Brought  him  sleds  an'  candy  an'  nuts 
an'  raisins  an'  new  boots  an'  everything." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?"  asked  his  mother, 
who  was  now  reading  intently. 

"  'Cos  he  was  a  good  boy.  He  wouldn't  cry  if 
he  had  to  fill  the  wood  box ;  would  he,  mother  ?  " 

That  query  held  a  hidden  rebuke  for  his 
brother  Tom. 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  do  not  think  he  was 
ever  saucy  or  spoke  a  bad  word." 

"Huh!"  said  Tom,  reflectively;  "then  I 
guess  he  never  had  no  mustard  plaster  put  on 
him." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  123 

The  widow  bade  him  hush. 

"  Er  never  had  nuthin'  done  to  him,  neither," 
the  boy  continued,  rocking  vigorously  in  his  little 
chair. 

"  Mustn't  speak  so  of  Christ,"  the  mother  added. 

"Wai,"  said  Paul,  rising,  "I  guess  I'll  hang 
up  my  stockin's." 

"One'll  do,  Paul,"  said  his  sister  Polly,  with  a 
knowing  air. 

"  No,  'twon't,"  the  boy  insisted.  "  They  ain't 
half  's  big  as  yours.  I'm  goin'  t'  try  it,  any 
way,  an'  see  what  he'll  do  to  'em." 

He  drew  off  his  stockings  and  pinned  them 
carefully  to  the  braces  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Well,  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughn,  looking 
over  the  top  of  her  paper,  "  it's  bad  weather ; 
Santa  Claus  may  not  be  able  to  get  here." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  can,"  said  the  boy,  confidently, 
but  with  a  little  quiver  of  alarm  in  his  voice. 
"  I'm  sure  he'll  come.  He  has  a  team  of  rein 
deers.  '  An'  the  deeper  the  snow  the  faster 
they  go.' ' 

Soon  the  others  bared  their  feet  and  hung  their 
stockings  on  four  chairs  in  a  row  beside  the  first. 

Then  they  all  got  on  the  bed  in  the  comer 


124  DARREL 

and  pulled  a  quilt  over  them  to  wait  for  Santa 
Claus.  The  mother  went  on  with  her  reading 
as  they  chattered. 

Sleep  hushed  them  presently.  But  for  the 
crackling  of  the  fire,  and  the  push  and  whistle 
of  the  wind,  that  room  had  become  as  a  peace 
ful,  silent  cave  under  the  storm. 

The  widow  rose  stealthily  and  opened  a 
bureau  drawer.  The  row  of  limp  stockings 
began  to  look  cheerful  and  animated.  Little 
packages  fell  to  their  toes,  and  the  shortest 
began  to  reach  for  the  floor.  But  while  they 
were  fat  in  the  foot  they  were  still  very  lean 
in  the  leg. 

Her  apron  empty,  Mrs.  Vaughn  took  her 
knitting  to  the  fire,  and  before  she  began  to 
ply  the  needles,  looked  thoughtfully  at  her 
hands.  They  had  been  soft  and  shapely  before 
the  days  of  toil.  A  frail  but  comely  woman 
she  was,  with  pale  face,  and  dark  eyes,  and  hair 
prematurely  white. 

She  had  come  west  —  a  girl  of  nineteen  — 
with  her  young  husband,  full  of  high  hopes. 
That  was  twenty-one  years  ago,  and  the  new 
land  had  poorly  kept  its  promise. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  125 

And  the  children  —  "How  many  have  you  ?  " 
a  caller  had  once  inquired.  "  Listen,"  said  she, 
"  hear  'em,  an'  you'd  say  there  were  fifteen,  but 
count  'em  an'  they're  only  four." 

The  low,  weathered  house  and  sixty  acres 
were  mortgaged.  Even  the  wilderness  had  not 
wholly  signed  off  its  claim.  Every  year  it  ex 
acted  tribute,  the  foxes  taking  a  share  of  her 
poultry,  and  the  wild  deer  feeding  on  her  grain. 

A  little  beggar  of  a  dog,  that  now  lay  in  the 
firelight,  had  offered  himself  one  day,  with 
cheerful  confidence,  and  been  accepted.  Small, 
affectionate,  cowardly,  irresponsible,  and  yellow, 
he  was  in  the  nature  of  a  luxury,  as'  the  widow 
had  once  said.  He  had  a  slim  nose,  no  longer 
than  a  man's  thumb,  and  ever  busy.  He  was 
a  most  prudent  animal,  and  the  first  day 
found  a  small  opening  in  the  foundation  of  the 
barn  through  which  he  betook  himself  always 
at  any  sign  of  danger.  He  soon  buried  his 
bones  there,  and  was  ready  for  a  siege  if,  per 
chance,  it  came.  One  blow  or  even  a  harsh 
word  sent  him  to  his  refuge  in  hot  haste.  He 
had  learned  early  that  the  ways  of  hired  men 
were  full  of  violence  and  peril.  Hospitality 


126  DARREL 

and  affection  had  won  his  confidence  but  never 
deprived  him  of  his  caution. 

Presently  there  came  a  heavy  step  and  a  quick 
pull  at  the  latch-string.  An  odd  figure  entered 
in  a  swirl  of  snow  —  a  real  Santa  Glaus,  the 
mystery  and  blessing  of  Cedar  Hill.  For  five 
years,  every  Christmas  Eve,  in  good  or  bad 
weather,  he  had  come  to  four  little  houses  on 
the  Hill,  where,  indeed,  his  coming  had  been  as 
a  Godsend.  Whence  he  came  and  who  he  might 
be  none  had  been  able  to  guess.  He  never 
spoke  in  his  official  capacity,  and  no  citizen  of 
Faraway  had  such  a  beard  or  figure  as  this 
man.  Now  his  fur  coat,  his  beard,  and  eye 
brows  were  hoary  with  snow  and  frost.  Icicles 
hung  from  his  mustache  around  the  short  clay 
pipe  of  tradition.  He  lowered  a  great  sack  and 
brushed  the  snow  off  it  He  had  borne  it  high 
on  his  back,  with  a  strap  at  each  shoulder. 

The  sack  was  now  about  half  full  of  things. 
He  took  out  three  big  bundles  and  laid  them  on 
the  table.  They  were  evidently  for  the  widow 
herself,  who  quickly  stepped  to  the  bedside. 

"  Come,  children,"  she  whispered,  rousing 
them  ;  "  here  is  Santa  Glaus." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  127 

They  scrambled  down,  rubbing  their  eyes. 
Polly  took  the  hands  of  the  two  small  boys  and 
led  them  near  him.  Paul  drew  his  hand  away 
and  stood  spellbound,  eyes  and  mouth  open. 
He  watched  every  motion  of  the  good  Saint, 
who  had  come  to  that  chair  that  held  the  little 
stockings.  Santa  Claus  put  a  pair  of  boots  on 
it.  They  were  copper-toed,  with  gorgeous  front 
pieces  of  red  morocco  at  the  top  of  the  leg. 
Then,  as  if  he  had  some  relish  of  a  joke,  he 
took  them  up,  looked  them  over  thoughtfully, 
and  put  them  in  the  sack  again,  whereupon 
the  boy  Paul  burst  into  tears.  Old  Santa 
Claus,  shaking  with  silent  laughter,  replaced 
them  in  the  chair  quickly. 

As  if  to  lighten  the  boy's  heart  he  opened  a 
box  and  took  out  a  mouth-organ.  He  held  it  so 
the  light  sparkled  on  its  shiny  side.  Then  he 
put  his  pipe  in  his  pocket  and  began  to  dance 
and  play  lively  music.  Step  and  tune  quick 
ened.  The  bulky  figure  was  flying  up  and 
down  above  a  great  clatter  of  big  boots,  his 
head  wagging  to  keep  time.  The  oldest  chil 
dren  were  laughing,  and  the  boy  Paul,  he  began 
to  smile  in  the  midst  of  a  great  sob  that  shook 


ia8  DARREL 

him  to  the  toes.  The  player  stopped  suddenly, 
stuffed  the  instrument  in  a  stocking,  and  went 
on  with  his  work.  Presently  he  uncovered  a 
stick  of  candy  long  as  a  man's  arm.  There 
were  spiral  stripes  of  red  from  end  to  end  of  it. 
He  used  it  for  a  fiddle-bow,  whistling  with 
terrific  energy  and  sawing  the  air.  Then  he 
put  shawls  and  tippets  and  boots  and  various 
little  packages  on  the  other  chairs. 

At  last  he  drew  out  of  the  sack  a  sheet  of 
pasteboard,  with  string  attached,  and  hung  it  on 
the  wall.  It  bore  the  simple  message,  rudely 
lettered  in  black,  as  follows  :  — 

"  Mery  Crismus.  And  Children  i  have  the 
honnor  to  remane,  Yours  Respec'fully 

SANDY  CLAUS." 

His  work  done,  he  swung  the  pack  to  his 
shoulders  and  made  off  as  they  all  broke  the 
silence  with  a  hearty  "Thank  you,  Santa 
Glaus  !  " 

They  listened  a  moment,  as  he  went  away 
with  a  loud  and  merry  laugh  sounding  above 
the  roar  of  the  wind.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  big 
and  gentle  heart,  but  gave  no  other  clew.  In 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  129 

a  moment  cries  of  delight,  and  a  rustle  of 
wrappings,  filled  the  room.  As  on  wings  of  the 
bitter  wind,  joy  and  good  fortune  had  come  to 
them,  and,  in  that  little  house,  had  drifted  deep 
as  the  snow  without. 

The  children  went  to  their  beds  with  slow  feet 
and  quick  pulses.  Paul  begged  for  the  sacred 
privilege  of  wearing  his  new  boots  to  bed,  but 
compromised  on  having  them  beside  his  pillow. 
The  boys  went  to  sleep  at  last,  with  all  their 
treasures  heaped  about  them.  Tom  shortly 
rolled  upon  the  little  jumping-jack,  that  broke 
away  and  butted  him  in  the  face  with  a  loud 
squawk.  It  roused  the  boy,  who  promptly  set  up 
a  defence  in  which  the  stuffed  hen  lost  her  tail- 
feathers  and  the  jumping-jack  was  violently  put 
out  of  bed.  When  the  mother  came  to  see 
what  had  happened,  order  had  been  restored  — 
the  boys  were  both  sleeping. 

It  was  an  odd  little  room  under  bare  shingles 
above  stairs.  Great  chests,  filled  with  relics  of 
another  time  and  country,  sat  against  the  walls. 
Here  and  there  a  bunch  of  herbs  or  a  few  ears 
of  corn,  their  husks  braided,  hung  on  the  bare 
rafters.  The  aroma  of  the  summer  fields  —  of 


130  DARREL 

peppermint,  catnip,  and  lobelia  —  haunted  it. 
Chimney  and  stovepipe  tempered  the  cold.  A 
crack  in  the  gable  end  let  in  a  sift  of  snow  that 
had  been  heaping  up  a  lonely  little  drift  on  the 
bare  floor.  The  widow  covered  the  boys  ten 
derly  and  took  their  treasures  off  the  bed,  all 
save  the  little  wooden  monkey,  which,  as  if 
frightened  by  the  melee,  had  hidden  far  under 
the  clothes.  She  went  below  stairs  to  the  fire, 
which  every  cold  day  was  well  fed  until  after 
midnight,  and  began  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  her 
own  gifts.  They  were  a  haunch  of  venison,  a 
sack  of  flour,  a  shawl,  and  mittens.  A  small 
package  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  It  was  neatly 
bound  with  wrappings  of  blue  paper.  Under 
the  last  layer  was  a  little  box,  the  words  "  For 
Polly  "  on  its  cover.  It  held  a  locket  of  wrought 
gold  that  outshone  the  light  of  the  candles. 
She  touched  a  spring,  and  the  case  opened.  In 
side  was  a  lock  of  hair,  white  as  her  own.  There 
were  three  lines  cut  in  the  glowing  metal,  and 
she  read  them  over  and  over  again :  — 

"  Here  are  silver  and  gold, 

The  one  for  a  day  of  remembrance  between  thee  and  dis 
honour, 
The  other  for  a  day  of  plenty  between  thee  and  want." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  131 

She  went  to  her  bed,  presently,  where  the  girl 
lay  sleeping,  and,  lifting  dark  masses  of  her 
hair,  kissed  a  ruddy  cheek.  Then  the  widow 
stood  a  moment,  wiping  her  eyes. 


XIII 


A   Christmas  Adventure 


Z 


ONG  before  daylight  one  could 


hear  the  slowing  of  the  wind. 
Its  caravan  now  reaching  east 
ward  to  mid-ocean  was  nearly 
passed.  Scattered  gusts  hurried 
on  like  weary  and  belated  followers.  Then, 
suddenly,  came  a  silence  in  which  one  might 
have  heard  the  dust  of  their  feet  falling,  their 
shouts  receding  in  the  far  woodland.  The 
sun  rose  in  a  clear  sky  above  the  patched  and 
ragged  canopy  of  the  woods  —  a  weary  multi 
tude  now  resting  in  the  still  air. 

The  children  were  up  looking  for  tracks  of 
reindeer  and  breaking  paths  in  the  snow.  Sun 
light  glimmered  in  far-flung  jewels  of  the  Frost 
King.  They  lay  deep,  clinking  as  the  foot 
sank  in  them.  At  the  Vaughn  home  it  was  an 
eventful  day.  Santa  Claus  —  well,  he  is  the 
great  Captain  that  leads  us  to  the  farther  gate 
132 


BARREL 


'33 


of  childhood  and  surrenders  the  golden  key. 
Many  ways  are  beyond  the  gate,  some  steep 
and  thorny;  and  some  who  pass  it  turn  back 
with  bleeding  feet  and  wet  eyes,  but  the  gate 
opens  not  again  for  any  that  have  passed. 
Tom  had  got  the  key  and  begun  to  try  it. 
Santa  Claus  had  winked  at  him  with  a  snaring 
eye,  like  that  of  his  aunt  when  she  had  sugar 
in  her  pocket,  and  Tom  thought  it  very  foolish. 
The  boy  had  even  felt  of  his  greatcoat  and 
got  a  good  look  at  his  boots  and  trousers. 
Moreover,  when  he  put  his  pipe  away,  Tom 
saw  him  take  a  chew  of  tobacco  —  an  abhor 
rent  thing  if  he  were  to  believe  his  mother. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  never  knew  Santa 
Claus  chewed  tobacco." 

"Well,  mebbe  he  was  Santa  Claus's  hired 
man,"  said  she. 

"Might  'a'  had  the  toothache,"  Paul  sug 
gested,  for  Lew  Allen,  who  worked  for  them 
in  the  summer  time,  had  an  habitual  toothache, 
relieved  many  times  a  day  by  chewing  tobacco. 

Tom  sat  looking  into  the  fire  a  moment. 

Then  he  spoke  of  a  matter  Paul  and  he  had 
discussed  secretly. 


134  BARREL 

"  Joe  Bellus  he  toP  me  Santa  Claus  was  only 
somebody  rigged  up  t'  fool  folks,  an'  hadn't 
no  reindeers  at  all." 

The  mother  turned  away,  her  wits  groping 
for  an  answer. 

"  Hadn't  ought  'a'  told  mother,  Tom,"  said 
Paul,  with  a  little  quiver  of  reproach  and  pity. 
"'Tain't  so,  anyway  —  we  know  'tain't  so." 

He  was  looking  into  his  mother's  face. 

"  Tain't  so,"  Paul  repeated  with  unshaken 
confidence. 

"  Mus'n't  believe  all  ye  hear,"  said  the  widow, 
who  now  turned  to  the  doubting  Thomas. 

And  that  very  moment  Tom  was  come  to  the 
last  gate  of  childhood,  whereon  are  the  black  and 
necessary  words,  "  Mus'n't  believe  all  ye  hear." 

The  boys  in  their  new  boots  were  on  the 
track  of  a  painter.  They  treed  him,  presently, 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  How'll  we  kill  him  ? "  one  of  them  inquired. 

"Just  walk  around  the  tree  once,"  said  the 
mother,  "  an'  you'll  scare  him  to  death.  Why 
don't  ye  grease  your  boots  ?  " 

"  'Fraid  it'll  take  the  screak  out  of  'em,"  said 
Paul,  looking  down  thoughtfully  at  his  own  pair. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  135 

"Well,"  said  she,  "you'll  have  me  treed  if 
you  keep  on.  No  hunter  would  have  boots  like 
that.  A  loud  foot  makes  a  still  gun." 

That  was  her  unfailing  method  of  control  — 
the  appeal  to  intelligence.  Polly  sat  singing, 
thoughtfully,  the  locket  in  her  hand.  She  had 
kissed  the  sacred  thing  and  hung  it  by  a  ribbon 
to  her  neck  and  bathed  her  eyes  in  the  golden 
light  of  it  and  begun  to  feel  the  subtle  pathos  in 
its  odd  message.  She  was  thinking  of  the  hand 
some  boy  who  came  along  that  far  May-day 
with  the  drove,  and  who  lately  had  returned  to 
be  her  teacher  at  Linley  School.  Now,  he  had 
so  much  dignity  and  learning,  she  liked  him 
not  half  so  well  and  felt  he  had  no  longer  any 
care  for  her.  She  blushed  to  think  how  she  had 
wept  over  his  letter  and  kissed  it  every  day  for 
weeks.  Her  dream  was  interrupted,  presently, 
by  the  call  of  her  brother  Tom.  Having  cut  the 
frost  on  a  window-pane,  he  stood  peering  out. 
A  man  was  approaching  in  the  near  field.  His 
figure  showed  to  the  boot-top,  mounting  hills 
of  snow,  and  sank  out  of  sight  in  the  deep 
hollows.  It  looked  as  if  he  were  walking 
on  a  rough  sea.  In  a  moment  he  came  strid- 


136  DARREL 

ing  over  the  dooryard  fence  on  a  pair  of  snow- 
shoes. 

"  It's  Mr.  Trove,  the  teacher,"  said  Polly,  who 
quickly  began  to  shake  her  curls. 

As  the  door  swung  open  all  greeted  the  young 
man.  Loosening  his  snow-shoes,  he  flung  them 
on  the  step  and  came  in,  a  foxtail  dangling 
from  his  fur  cap. 

He  shook  hands  with  Polly  and  her  mother, 
and  lifted  Paul  to  the  ceiling.  "Hello,  young 
man  !  "  said  he.  "  If  one  is  four,  how  many  are 
two  ? " 

"  If  you're  speaking  of  new  boots,"  said  the 
widow,  "  one  is  at  least  fifteen." 

The  school  teacher  made  no  reply,  but  stood  a 
moment  looking  down  at  the  boy. 

"  It's  a  cold  day,"  said  Polly. 

"  I  like  it,"  said  the  teacher,  lifting  his  broad 
shoulders  and  smiting  them  with  his  hands. 
"God  has  been  house  cleaning.  The  dome  of 
the  sky  is  all  swept  and  dusted.  There  isn't  a 
cobweb  anywhere.  Santa  Claus  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  younger  children,  who  made 
a  rush  for  their  gifts  and  laid  them  on  chairs 
before  him. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  137 

"  Grand  old  chap  !  "  said  he,  staring  thought 
fully  at  the  flannel  cat  in  his  hands.  "  Any  idea 
who  it  is  ?  " 

"  Can't  make  out,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughn ;  "  very 
singular  man." 

"  Generous,  too,"  the  teacher  added.  "  That's 
the  best  cat  I  ever  saw,  Tom.  If  I  had  my  way, 
the  cats  would  all  be  made  of  flannel.  Miss 
Polly,  what  did  you  get  ?  " 

"This,"  said  Polly,  handing  him  the  locket. 

"  Beautiful !  "  said  he,  turning  it  in  his  hand. 
"  Anything  inside  ? " 

Polly  showed  him  how  to  open  it.  He  sat  a 
moment  or  more  looking  at  the  graven  gold. 

"  Strange !  "  said  he,  presently,  surveying  the 
wrought  cases. 

Mrs.  Vaughn  was  now  at  his  elbow. 

"  Strange  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Well,  long  ago,"  said  he,  "  I  heard  of  one 
like  it.  Some  time  it  may  solve  the  mystery  of 
your  Santa  Claus." 

An  ear  of  the  teacher  had  begun  to  swell  and 
redden. 

"  Should  have  pulled  my  cap  down,"  said  he, 
as  the  widow  spoke  of  it.  "  Frost-bitten  years 


138  DARREL 

ago,  and  if  I'm  out  long  in  the  cold,  I  begin  to 
feel  it." 

"  Must  be  very  painful,"  said  Polly,  as  in 
deed  it  was. 

"No,"  said  he,  with  a  little  squint  as  he 
touched  the  aching  member.  "  It's  good  —  I 
rather  like  it.  I  wouldn't  take  anything  for 
that  ear.  It  —  it — "  He  hesitated,  as  if  try 
ing  to  recall  the  advantages  of  a  chilled  ear. 
"Well,  I  shouldn't  know  I  had  any  ears  if  it 
weren't  for  that  one.  Come,  Paul,  put  on 
your  cap  an'  mittens.  We'll  take  a  sack  and 
get  some  green  boughs  for  your  mother." 

He  put  on  snow-shoes,  wrapped  the  boy 
snugly  in  a  shawl,  and,  seating  him  on  a  snow- 
boat,  made  off,  hauling  it  with  a  rope  over 
white  banks  and  hollows  toward  the  big  tim 
ber.  The  dog,  Bony,  came  along  with  them, 
wallowing  to  his  ears  and  barking  merrily. 
Since  morning  the  sun  had  begun  to  warm 
the  air,  and  a  light  breeze  had  risen.  The 
boy  sat  bracing  on  a  rope  fastened  before  and 
looped  around  him.  As  they  went  along  he 
was  oversown  with  sparkling  crystals.  They 
made  his  cheeks  tingle,  and  almost  took  his 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  139 

breath  as  he  went  plunging  into  steep  hollows. 
Often  he  tipped  over  and  sank  in  the  white 
deep.  Then  Trove  hauled  him  out,  brushed 
him  a  little,  and  set  him  back  on  the  boat 
again.  Snow  lay  deep  and  level  in  the  woods 
—  a  big,  white  carpet,  seamed  with  tiny  tracks 
and  figured  with  light  and  shadow.  Trove 
stopped  a  moment,  looking  up  at  the  forest 
roof.  They  could  hear  a  baying  of  hounds  in 
the  far  valley.  Down  the  dingle  near  them 
a  dead  leaf  was  drumming  on  a  bough  —  a 
clock  of  the  wood  telling  the  flight  of  seconds. 
Above,  they  could  hear  the  low  creak  of  brace 
and  rafter  and  great  waves  of  the  upper  deep 
sweeping  over  and  breaking  with  a  loud  wash 
on  reefs  of  evergreen.  The  little  people  of 
this  odd  winter  land  had  begun  to  make  roads 
from  tree  to  tree  and  from  thicket  to  thicket 
A  partridge  had  broken  out  of  her  cave,  and 
they  followed  the  track  of  her  snow-shoes 
down  the  side-hill  to  a  little  brook.  Under 
its  ice  roof  they  could  hear  the  tinkling  water. 
Above  them  the  brook  fell  from  a  rock  shelf, 
narrow  and  high  as  a  man's  head.  The  fall  was 
muted  to  a  low  murmur  under  its  vault  of  ice. 


140  BARREL 

"Come,  Paul,"  said  Trove,  as  he  lifted  the 
small  boy;  "here's  a  castle  of  King  Frost. 
There  are  thousands  in  his  family,  and  he's 
many  castles.  Building  new  ones  every  day 
somewhere.  Goes  north  in  the  spring,  and  when 
he  moves  out  they  begin  to  rot  and  tumble." 

He  cleared  a  space  for  the  boy  to  stand 
upon.  Then  he  brushed  away  the  snow  blan 
ket  flung  loosely  over  the  vault  of  ice.  A 
wonderful  bit  of  masonry  stood  exposed.  Near 
its  centre  were  two  columns,  large  and  rugose, 
each  tapering  to  a  capital  and  cornice.  Be 
tween  them  was  a  deep  lattice  of  crystal. 
Some  bars  were  clear,  some  yellow  as  amber, 
and  all  were  powdered  over  with  snow,  ivory- 
white.  Under  its  upper  part  they  could  see 
a  grille  of  frostwork,  close-wrought,  glisten 
ing,  and  white.  It  was  the  inner  gate  of  the 
castle,  and  each  ray  of  light,  before  entering, 
had  to  pay  a  toll  of  its  warmth.  On  either  side 
was  a  rough  wall  of  ice,  with  here  and  there 
a  barred  window.  The  snow  cleared  away, 
they  could  hear  the  song  of  falling  water. 
The  teacher  put  his  ear  to  the  ice  wall.  Then 
he  called  the  boy. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  141 

"  Listen,"  said  he;  "it's  the  castle  bell." 
Indeed,  the  whole  structure  rang  like  a  bell, 
if  one  put  his  ear  down  to  hear  it. 

"  See !  "  said  he,  presently,  stirring  a  heap 
of  tiny  crystals  in  his  palm.  "  Here  are  the 
bricks  he  builds  with,  and  the  water  of  the 
brook  is  his  mortar." 

Near  the  bank  was  an  opening  partly  cov 
ered  with  snow.  It  led  to  a  cavern  behind 
the  ice  curtain  under  the  rock  floor  of  the 
brook  above. 

The  teacher  took  off  his  snow-shoes.  In  a 
moment  they  had  crawled  through  and  were 
crouching  on  a  frosty  bed  of  pebbles.  A 
warm  glow  lit  the  long  curtain  of  ice.  Beams 
of  sunlight  fell  through  windows  oddly  mull- 
ioned  with  icicles  and  filtered  in  at  the  lat 
tice  of  crystal.  They  jewelled  the  grille  of 
frostwork  and  flung  a  sprinkle  of  gold  on  the 
falling  water.  The  breath  of  the  waterfall, 
rising  out  of  bubbles,  filled  its  castle  with  the 
very  wine  of  life.  The  narrow  hall  rang  with 
its  music. 

"  See  the  splendour  of  a  king's  home,"  said 
the  teacher,  his  eyes  brimming. 


142  DARREL 

The  boy,  young  as  he  was,  had  seen  and 
felt  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  place,  and 
never  forgot  it. 

"  See  how  it  sifts  the  sunlight  to  take  the 
warmth  out  of  it,"  the  teacher  continued. 
"Warmth  is  poison  to  the  King,  and  every 
ray  of  light  is  twisted  and  turned  upside  down 
to  see  if  he  has  any  in  his  pocket." 

They  could  now  hear  a  loud  baying  on  the 
hill  above. 

As  they  turned  to  listen,  a  young  fox  leaped 
in  at  the  hole  and,  as  he  saw  them,  checked  a 
foot  in  the  air.  He  was  panting,  his  tongue 
out,  and  blood  was  dripping  from  his  long  fur 
at  the  shoulder.  He  turned,  stilling  his  breath 
a  little  as  the  hounds  came  near.  Then  he 
trembled,  —  a  pitiful  sight,  —  for  he  was  near 
spent  and  between  two  perils. 

"  Come  — poor  fellow !  "  said  the  teacher, 
stroking  him  gently. 

The  fox  ran  aside,  shaking  with  fear,  his  foot 
lifted  appealingly.  With  a  quick  movement 
the  teacher  caught  him  by  the  nape  of  his  neck 
and  thrust  him  into  the  sack.  The  leader  now 
had  his  nose  in  the  hole. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  143 

"Back  there!"  Trove  shouted,  kicking  at 
him. 

In  a  moment  he  had  rolled  a  heavy  stone 
to  the  hole  and  made  it  too  small  for  the  hounds 
to  enter.  Half  a  dozen  of  them  were  now 
baying  outside. 

"  We'll  give  him  air,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he 
cut  a  hole  in  the  sack  and  tied  it.  "  Don't 
know  how  we'll  get  him  out  of  here  alive. 
They'd  be  all  over  me  like  a  pack  of  wolves." 

He  stood  a  moment  thinking.  Bony  had 
wriggled  away  from  Paul  and  begun  to  bark 
loudly. 

"  I've  an  idea,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he  cut 
the  foxtail  from  his  cap.  Then  he  rubbed  it 
in  the  blood  and  spittle  of  the  fox  and  tied  it 
to  the  stub  tail  of  Bony.  The  dog's  four  feet 
were  scented  in  the  same  manner.  The  smell  of 
them  irked  him  sorely.  His  hair  rose,  and  his 
head  fell  with  a  sense  of  injury.  He  made  a 
rush  at  his  new  tail  and  was  rudely  stopped. 

"  He's  fresh,"and  they'll  not  be  able  to  catch 
him,"  said  the  young  man,  as  Paul  protested. 
"Wouldn't  hurt  anything  but  the  tail  if  they 
did." 


H4  DARREL 

Then  breaking  the  ice  curtain,  as  far  from 
the  hole  as  possible,  he  gave  Bony  a  spank 
and  flung  him  out  on  the  snow  above  with  a 
loud  "go  home."  The  pack  saw  him  and 
scrambled  up  the  bank  in  full  cry.  He  had 
turned  for  a  glance  at  his  new  tail,  but  seeing 
the  pack  rush  at  him  started  up  the  hillside  with 
a  yelp  of  fear  and  the  energy  of  a  wildcat. 
When  the  two  came  out  of  the  cavern  they 
saw  him  leaping  like  a  rabbit  in  the  snow,  his 
hair  on  end,  his  brush  flying,  and  the  hounds 
in  full  pursuit. 

"  My  stars !  See  that  dog  run,"  said  the 
teacher,  laughing,  as  he  put  on  his  snow-shoes. 
"  He  don't  intend  to  be  caught  with  such  a 
tail  and  smell  on  him." 

He  put  the  sack  over  his  shoulder. 

"  All  aboard,  Paul,"  said  he ;  "  now  we  can  go 
home  in  peace." 

Coming  down  out  of  the  woods,  they  saw  a 
pack  of  hounds  digging  at  one  side  of  the 
stable.  Bony  had  gone  to  his  refuge  under  the 
barn  floor. 

As  he  entered,  one  of  them  had  evidently 
caught  hold  of  his  new  tail,  and  the  pack  had 


cf  the  BLESSED    ISLES  145 

torn  it  in  shreds.  Two  hunters  came  along 
shortly,  and,  after  a  talk  with  the  teacher, 
took  their  dogs  away.  But  for  three  days 
Bony  came  not  forth  and  was  seen  no  more  of 
men,  save  only  when  he  crept  to  the  hole  for  a 
lap  of  water  and  to  seize  a  doughnut  from  the 
hand  of  Paul,  whereupon  he  retired  promptly. 

"He  ain't  going  to  take  any  chances,"  said 
the  widow,  laughing. 

When  at  last  he  came  forth,  it  was  with  a 
soft  step  and  new  resolutions.  And  a  while 
later,  when  Trove  heard  Barrel  say  that  caution 
was  the  only  friend  of  weakness,  he  understood 
him  perfectly. 

"  Not  every  brush  has  a  fox  on  it,"  said  the 
widow,  and  the  words  went  from  lip  to  lip  until 
they  were  a  maxim  of  those  country-folk. 

And  Trove  was  to  think  of  it  when  he  him 
self  was  like  the  poor  dog  that  wore  a  fox's  tail. 


XIV 


A  Day  at  the  Linley  School/louse 


REMARKABLE  figure  was 
young  Sidney  Trove,  the  new 
teacher  in  District  No.  i.  He 
was  nearing  nineteen  years  of 
age  that  winter. 
"  I  like  that,"  he  said  to  the  trustee,  who  had 
been  telling  him  of  the  unruly  boys— great, 
hulking  fellows  that  made  trouble  every  winter 
term.  " Trouble  —  it's  a  grand  thing!  — but 
I'm  not  selfish,  and  if  I  find  any,  I'll  agree  to 
divide  it  with  the  boys.  I  don't  know  but  I'll 
be  generous  and  let  them  have  the  most  of  it. 
If  they  put  me  out  of  the  schoolhouse,  I'll  have 
learned  something." 

The  trustee  looked  at  the  six   feet  and   two 
inches  of  bone  and   muscle  that   sat   lounging 
in  a  chair  —  looked  from  end  to  end  of  it. 
"  What's  that  ? "  he  inquired,  smiling. 
146 


DARREL  147 

"  That  I've  no  business  there,"  said  young 
Mr.  Trove. 

"  I  guess  you'll  dew,"  said  the  trustee. 
"Make  'em  toe  the  line;  that's  all  I  got  t' 
say." 

"And  all  I've  got  to  do  is  my  best  —  I 
don't  promise  any  more,"  the  other  answered 
modestly,  as  he  rose  to  leave. 

Linley  School  was  at  the  four  corners  in 
Pleasant  Valley,  —  a  low,  frame  structure,  small 
and  weathered  gray.  Windows,  with  no  shade, 
or  shutter,  were  set,  two  on  a  side,  in  perfect 
apposition.  A  passing  traveller  could  see 
through  them  to  the  rocky  pasture  beyond. 
Who  came  there  for  knowledge,  though  a  fool, 
was  dubbed  a  "  scholar."  It  was  a  word  sharply 
etched  in  the  dialect  of  that  region.  If  one 
were  to  say  skollur-r-r,  he  might  come  near  it. 
Every  winter  morning  the  scholar  entered  a 
little  vestibule  which  was  part  of  the  wood 
shed.  He  passed  an  ash  barrel  and  the  odour 
of  drying  wood,  hung  cap  and  coat  on  a  peg  in 
the  closet,  lifted  the  latch  of  a  pine  door,  and 
came  into  the  schoolroom.  If  before  nine,  it 
would  be  noisy  with  shout  and  laughter,  the 


148  DARREL 

buzz  of  tongues,  the  tread  of  running  feet.  Big 
girls,  in  neat  aprons,  would  be  gossiping  at  the 
stove  hearth ;  small  boys  would  be  chasing 
each  other  up  and  down  aisles  and  leaping  the 
whittled  desks  of  pine ;  little  girls,  in  checked 
flannel,  or  homespun,  would  be  circling  in  a 
song  play;  big  boys  would  be  trying  feats  of 
strength  that  ended  in  loud  laughter.  So  it 
was,  the  first  morning  of  that  winter  term  in 
1850.  A  tall  youth  stood  by  the  window. 
Suddenly  he  gave  a  loud  "  sh  —  h  —  h  !  " 
Running  feet  fell  silently  and  halted ;  words 
begun  with  a  shout  ended  in  a  whisper.  A  boy 
making  caricatures  at  the  blackboard  dropped 
his  chalk,  that  now  fell  noisily.  A  whisper, 
heavy  with  awe  and  expectation,  flew  hissing 
from  lip  to  lip  —  "  The  teacher  !  "  There  came 
a  tramping  in  the  vestibule,  the  door-latch 
jumped  with  a  loud  rattle,  and  in  came  Sidney 
Trove.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  him.  A 
look  of  rectitude,  dovelike  and  too  good  to  be 
true,  came  over  many  faces, 

"  Good  morning  ! "  said  the  young  man,  re 
moving  his  cap,  coat,  and  overshoes.  Some 
nodded,  dumb  with  timidity.  Only  a  few  little 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  149 

ones  had  the  bravery  to  speak  up,  as  they  gave 
back  the  words  in  a  tone  that  would  have  fitted 
a  golden  text.  He  came  to  the  roaring  stove 
and  stood  a  moment,  warming  his  hands.  A 
group  of  the  big  boys  were  in  a  corner  whisper 
ing.  Two  were  sturdy  and  quite  six  feet  tall,  — 
the  Beach  boys. 

"  Big  as  a  bull  moose,"  one  whispered. 

"An*  stouter,"  said  another. 

The  teacher  took  a  pencil  from  his  pocket 
and  tapped  the  desk. 

"  Please  take  your  seats,"  said  he. 

All  obeyed.  Then  he  went  around  with  the 
roll  and  took  their  names,  of  which  there  were 
thirty-four. 

"  I  believe  I  know  your  name,"  said  Trove, 
smiling,  as  he  came  to  Polly  Vaughn. 

"  I  believe  you  do,"  said  she,  glancing  up  at 
him,  with  half  a  smile  and  a  little  move  in  her 
lips  that  seemed  to  ask,  "  How  could  you  forget 
me  ? " 

Then  the  teacher,  knowing  the  peril  of  her 
eyes,  became  very  dignified  as  he  glanced  over 
the  books  she  had  brought  to  school.  He 
knew  it  was  going  to  be  a  hard  day.  For  a 


150  DARREL 

little,  he  wondered  if  he  had  not  been  foolish, 
after  all,  in  trying  a  job  so  difficult  and  so 
perilous.  If  he  should  be  thrown  out  of  school, 
he  felt  sure  it  would  ruin  him  —  he  could  never 
look  Polly  in  the  face  again.  As  he  turned  to 
begin  the  work  of  teaching,  it  seemed  to  him  a 
case  of  do  or  die,  and  he  felt  the  strength  of  an 
ox  in  his  heavy  muscles. 

The  big  boys  had  settled  themselves  in  a 
back  corner  side  by  side  —  a  situation  too 
favourable  for  mischief.  He  asked  them  to  take 
other  seats.  They  complied  sullenly  and  with 
hesitation.  He  looked  over  books,  organized 
the  school  in  classes,  and  started  one  of  them 
on  its  way.  It  was  the  primer  class,  including 
a  half  dozen  very  small  boys  and  girls.  They 
shouted  each  word  in  the  reading  lesson, 
laboured  in  silence  with  another,  and  gave  voice 
again  with  unabated  energy.  In  their  pursuit 
of  learning  they  bayed  like  hounds.  Their 
work  began  upon  this  ancient  and  informing 
legend,  written  to  indicate  the  shout  and  skip  of 
the  youthful  student:  — 

The  —  sun  —  is  —  up  —  and  —  it  —  is  —  day 
—  day  ?  —  day. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  151 

"  You're  afraid,"  the  teacher  began  after  a 
little.  "  Come  up  here  close  to  me." 

They  came  to  his  chair  and  stood  about  him. 
Some  were  confident,  others  hung  back  sus 
picious  and  untamed. 

"  We're  going  to  be  friends,"  said  he,  in  a  low, 
gentle  voice.  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  lot  of 
cards  and  gave  one  to  each. 

"Here's  a  story,"  he  continued.  "See — I 
put  it  in  plain  print  for  you  with  pen  and  ink. 
It's  all  about  a  bear  and  a  boy,  and  is  in  ten 
parts.  Here's  the  first  chapter.  Take  it  home 
with  you  to-night  —  " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  He  had  turned  in  his 
chair  and  could  see  none  of  the  boys.  He  did 
not  move,  but  slowly  took  off  a  pair  of  glasses 
he  had  been  wearing. 

"Joe  Beach,"  said  he,  coolly,  "  come  out  here 
on  the  floor." 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence.  That 
big  youth  —  the  terror  of  Linley  School  —  was 
now  red  and  dumb  with  amazement.  His 
deviltry  had  begun,  but  how  had  the  teacher 
seen  it  with  his  back  turned  ? 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  said  the  boy,  sullenly. 


152  DARREL 

The  teacher  laid  down  his  book,  calmly, 
walked  to  the  seat  of  the  young  rebel,  took 
him  by  the  collar  and  the  back  of  the  neck, 
tore  him  out  of  the  place  where  his  hands  and 
feet  were  clinging  like  the  roots  of  a  tree, 
dragged  him  roughly  to  the  aisle  and  over  the 
floor  space,  taking  part  of  the  seat  along,  and 
stood  him  to  the  wall  with  a  bang  that  shook 
the  windows.  There  was  no  halting  —  it  was 
all  over  in  half  a  minute. 

"  You'll  please  remain  there/'  said  he,  coolly, 
"  until  I  tell  you  to  sit  down." 

He  turned  his  back  on  the  bully,  walked 
slowly  to  his  chair,  and  opened  his  book  again. 

"  Take  it  home  with  you  to-night,"  said  he, 
continuing  his  talk  to  the  primer  class.  "  Spell 
it  over,  so  you  won't  have  to  stop  long  between 
words.  All  who  read  it  well  to-morrow  will 
get  another  chapter. M 

They  began  to  study  at  home.  Wonder 
grew,  and  pleasure  came  with  labour  as  the  tale 
went  on. 

He  dismissed  the  primer  readers,  calling  the 
first  class  in  geography.  As  they  took  their 
places  he  repaired  the  broken  seat,  a  part  of 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  153 

which  had  been  torn  off  the  nails.  The  fallen 
rebel  stood  leaning,  his  back  to  the  school.  He 
had  expected  help,  but  the  reserve  force  had 
failed  him. 

"Joe  Beach — you  may  take  your  seat,"  said 
the  teacher,  in  a  kind  of  parenthetical  tone. 

"Geography  starts  at  home,"  he  continued, 
beginning  the  recitation.  "  Who  can  tell  me 
where  is  the  Linley  schoolhouse  ? 

A  dozen  hands  went  up." 

"  You  tell,"  said  he  to  one. 

"  It's  here,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Where's  here  ?  " 

A  boy  looked  thoughtful. 

"  Nex'  t'  Joe  Linley's  cow-pastur',"  he  ven 
tured  presently. 

"  Will  you  tell  us  ? "  the  teacher  asked,  look 
ing  at  a  bright-eyed  girl. 

"  In  Faraway,  New  York,"  said  she,  glibly. 

"  Tom  Linley,  I'll  take  that,"  said  the  teacher, 
in  a  lazy  tone.  He  was  looking  down  at  his 
book.  Where  he  sat,  facing  the  class,  he  could 
see  none  of  the  boys  without  turning.  But 
he  had  not  turned.  To  the  wonder  of  all,  up 
he  spoke  as  Tom  Linley  was  handing  a  slip 


154  BARREL 

of  paper  to  Joe  Beach.  There  was  a  little 
pause.  The  young  man  hesitated,  rose,  and 
walked  nervously  down  the  aisle. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he  took 
the  message  and  flung  it  on  the  fire,  unread. 
"  Faraway,  New  York ; "  he  continued  on  his  way 
to  the  blackboard  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

He  drew  a  circle,  indicating  the  four  points  of 
the  compass  on  it.  Then  he  mapped  the  town 
of  Faraway  and  others,  east,  west,  north,  and 
south  of  it.  So  he  made  a  map  of  the  county 
and  bade  them  copy  it.  Around  the  county  in 
succeeding  lessons  he  built  a  map  of  the  state. 
Others  in  the  middle  group  were  added,  the 
structure  growing,  day  by  day,  until  they  had 
mapped  the  hemisphere. 

At  the  Linley  schoolhouse  something  had 
happened.  Cunning  no  sooner  showed  its  head 
than  it  was  bruised  like  a  serpent,  brawny 
muscles  had  been  easily  outdone,  boldness  had 
grown  timid,  conceit  had  begun  to  ebb.  A 
serious  look  had  settled  upon  all  faces.  Every 
scholar  had  learned  one  thing,  learned  it  well 
and  quickly  —  it  was  to  be  no  playroom. 

There  was  a  recess  of  one  hour  at  noon.     All 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  155 

went  for  their  dinner  pails  and  sat  quietly,  eat 
ing  bread  and  butter  followed  by  doughnuts, 
apples,  and  pie. 

The  young  men  had  walked  to  the  road. 
Nothing  had  been  said.  They  drew  near  each 
other.  Tom  Linley  looked  up  at  Joe  Beach. 
In  his  face  one  might  have  seen  a  cloud  of  sym 
pathy  that  had  its  silver  lining  of  amusement. 

"  Powerful  ?  "  Tom  inquired,  soberly. 

"What?"  said  Joe. 

"  Powerful  ? "  Tom  repeated. 

"  Powerful !  Jiminy  crimps  !  "  said  Joe,  sig 
nificantly. 

"  Why  didn't  ye  kick  him  ?  " 

"  Kick  him  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Kick  Mm  T" 

"  Kick  himr 

"  Huh  !  dunno,"  said  Joe,  with  a  look  of  sad 
ness  turning  into  contempt. 

"  Scairt  ?  "  the  other  inquired. 

"Scairt?     Na  —  a  —  w,"  said  Joe,  scornfully. 

"  What  was  ye,  then  ?  " 

"  Parr'lyzed  —  seems  so." 

There  was  an  outbreak  of  laughter. 


156  DARREL 

"You  was  goin'  t'  help,"  said  Joe,  addressing 
Tom  Linley. 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"  You  was  goin'  t'  help,"  the  fallen  bully 
repeated,  with  large  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"  Help  ?  "  Tom  inquired,  sparring  for  wind  as 
it  were. 

"  Yes,  help." 

"  You  was  licked  'fore  I  had  time." 

"Didn't  dast  — that's  what's  the  matter  — 
didn't  dast,"  said  big  Joe,  with  a  tone  of  irrep 
arable  injury. 

"  Wouldn't  'a'  been  nigh  ye  fer  a  millyun  dol 
lars,"  said  Tom,  soberly. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Twant  safe ;  that's  why." 

"  'Fraid  o'  him  !  ye  coward  !  " 

"  No  ;  'fraid  o'  you." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cos  if  one  o'  yer  feet  had  hit  a  feller  when  ye 
come  up  ag'in  that  wall,"  Tom  answered  slowly, 
"  there  wouldn't  'a'  been  nuthin'  left  uv  him." 

All  laughed  loudly. 

Then  there  was  another  silence.  Joe  broke 
it  after  a  moment  of  deep  thought. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  1 57 

"  Like  t'  know  how  he  seen  me,"  said  he. 

"  Tis  cur'us,"  said  another. 

"  Guess  he's  one  o'  them  preformers  like  they 
have  at  the  circus  —  "  was  the  opinion  of  Sam 
Beach.  "  See  one  take  a  pig  out  o'  his  hat  las' 
summer." 

"  'Tain't  fair  'n'  square,"  said  Tom  Linley ; 
"  not  jest  eggzac'ly." 

"  Gosh  !  B'lieve  I'll  run  away,"  said  Joe,  after 
a  pause.  "  Ain'  no  fun  here  for  me." 

"  Better  not,"  said  Archer  Town  ;  "  not  if  ye 
know  when  yerwell  off." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

<4Wal,  he'd  see  ye  wherever  ye  was  an'  do 
suthin'  to  ye,"  said  Archer.  "  Prob'ly  he's 
heard  all  we  been  sayin'  here." 

"Wai,  I  ain't  said  nuthin'  I'm  'shamed  of," 
said  Sam  Beach,  thoughtfully. 

A  bell  rang,  and  all  hurried  to  the  school- 
house.  The  afternoon  was  uneventful.  Those 
rough-edged,  brawny  fellows  had  become  seri 
ous.  Hope  had  died  in  their  breasts,  and 
now  they  looked  as  if  they  had  come  to  its 
funeral.  They  began  to  examine  their  books  as 
one  looks  at  a  bitter  draught  before  drinking  it. 


158  DARREL 

In  every  subject  the  teacher  took  a  new  way 
not  likely  to  be  hard  upon  tender  feet.  For  each 
lesson  he  had  a  method  of  his  own.  He  angled 
for  the  interest  of  the  class  and  caught  it. 
With  some  a  term  of  school  had  been  as  a  long 
sickness,  lengthened  by  the  medicine  of  books 
and  the  surgery  of  the  beech  rod.  They  had 
resented  it  with  ingenious  deviltry.  The  con 
fusion  of  the  teacher  and  some  incidental  fun 
were  its  only  compensations.  The  young  man 
gave  his  best  thought  to  the  correction  of  this 
mental  attitude.  Four  o'clock  came  at  last  — 
the  work  of  the  day  was  over.  Weary  with  its 
tension  all  sat  waiting  the  teacher's  word.  For 
a  little  he  stood  facing  them. 

"  Tom  Linley  and  Joe  Beach,"  said  he,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  will  you  wait  a  moment  after  the 
others  have  gone  ?  School's  dismissed." 

There  was  a  rush  of  feet  and  a  rattle  of 
dinner  pails.  All  were  eager  to  get  home  with 
the  story  of  that  day  —  save  the  two  it  had 
brought  to  shame.  They  sat  quietly  as  the 
others  went  away.  A  deep  silence  fell  in  that 
little  room.  Of  a  sudden  it  had  become  a 
lonely  place. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  159 

The  teacher  damped  the  fire  and  put  on  his 
overshoes. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  drawing  a  big  silver  watch, 
"  hear  that  watch  ticking.  It  tells  the  flight  of 
seconds.  You  are  —  eighteen,  did  you  say  ? 
They  turn  boys  into  oxen  here  in  this  country ; 
just  a  thing  of  bone  and  muscle,  living  to  sweat 
and  lift  and  groan.  Maybe  I  can  save  you,  but 
there's  not  a  minute  to  lose.  With  you  it  all 
depends  on  this  term  of  school.  When  it's  done 
you'll  either  be  ox  or  driver.  Play  checkers  ?  " 

Tom  nodded. 

"  I'll  come  over  some  evening,  and  we'll  have 
a  game.  Good  night ! " 


XV 


The   Tinker  at  Linley  School 


E 


VERY  seat  was  filled  at  the 
Linley  School  next  morning. 
The  tinker  had  come  to  see 
Trove  and  sat  behind  the  big 
desk  as  work  began. 


"There  are  two  kinds  of  people,"  said  the 
teacher,  after  all  were  seated  — "  those  that 
command  —  those  that  obey.  No  man  is  fit 
to  command  until  he  has  learned  to  obey  —  he 
will  not  know  how.  The  one  great  thing  life 
has  to  teach  you  is  —  obey.  There  was  a 
young  bear  once  that  was  bound  to  go  his  own 
way.  The  old  bear  told  him  it  wouldn't  do 
to  jump  over  a  precipice,  but,  somehow,  he 
couldn't  believe  it  and  jumped.  Twas  the  last 
thing  he  ever  did.  It's  often  so  with  the 
young.  Their  own  way  is  apt  to  be  rather 
steep  and  to  end  suddenly.  There  are  laws 
1 60 


DARREL  161 

everywhere,  —  we  couldn't  live  without  them,  — 
laws  of  nature,  God,  and  man.  Until  we  learn 
the  law  and  how  to  obey  it,  we  must  go  care 
fully  and  take  the  advice  of  older  heads.  We 
couldn't  run  a  school  without  laws  in  it  —  laws 
that  I  must  obey  as  well  as  you.  I  must 
teach,  and  you  must  learn.  The  two  first 
laws  of  the  school  are  teach  and  learn  —  you 
must  help  me  to  obey  mine ;  I  must  help  you 
to  obey  yours.  And  we'll  have  as  much  fun 
as  possible,  but  we  must  obey." 

Then  Trove  invited  Barrel  to  address  the 
school. 

"  Dear  children,"  the  tinker  began  with  a 
smile,  "  I  mind  ye're  all  looking  me  in  the 
face,  an'  I  do  greatly  fear  ye.  I  fear  I  may 
say  something  ye  will  remember,  an'  again  I 
fear  I  may  not.  For  when  I  speak  to  the 
young  —  ah !  then  it  seems  to  me  God  listens. 
I  heard  the  teacher  speaking  o'  the  law  of 
obedience.  Which  o'  ye  can  tell  me  who  is 
the  great  master  —  the  one  ye  must  never  dis 
obey  ? " 

"  Yer  father,"  said  one  of  the  boys. 

"  Nay,  me  bright   lad,  one  o'  these  days  ye 


162  BARREL 

may  lose  father  an'  mother  an'  teacher  an' 
friend.  Let  me  tell  a  story,  an'  then,  mayhap, 
yell  know  the  great  master.  Once  upon  a 
time  there  was  a  young  cub  who  thought  his 
life  a  burden  because  he  had  to  mind  his 
mother.  By  an'  by  a  bullet  killed  her,  an'  he 
was  left  alone.  He  wandered  away,  not  know 
ing  what  to  do,  and  came  near  the  land  o' 
men.  Soon  he  met  an  old  bear. 

" '  Foolish  cub !  Why  go  ye  to  the  land  o' 
men  ? '  said  the  old  bear.  '  Thy  legs  are  not 
as  long  as  me  tail.  Go  home  an'  obey  thy 
mother.' 

"'But  I've  none  to  obey,'  said  the  young 
bear ;  an'  before  he  could  turn,  a  ball  came 
whizzing  over  a  dingle  an'  ripped  into  his  ham. 
The  old  bear  had  scented  danger  an'  was  already 
out  o'  the  way.  The  cub  made  off  limping,  an* 
none  too  quickly.  They  followed  him  all  day, 
an'  when  night  came  he  was  the  most  weary 
an'  bedraggled  bear  in  the  woods.  But  he 
stopped  the  blood  an'  went  away  on  a  dry  track 
in  the  morning.  He  came  to  a  patch  o'  huckle 
berries  that  day  and  began  to  help  himself. 
Then  quick  an'  hard  he  got  a  cuff  on  the  head 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  163 

that  tore  off  an  ear  and  knocked  him  into  the 
bushes.  When  he  rose  there  stood  the  old  bear. 

"'Ah,  me  young  cub,'  said  he,  'ye'll  have  a 
master  now.' 

"  '  An'  no  more  need  o*  him/  said  the  young 
bear,  shaking  his  bloody  head. 

" '  Nay,  ye  will  prosper,'  said  the  old  bear. 
'  There  are  two  ways  o'  learning,  —  by  hearsay 
an'  by  knocks.  Much  ye  may  learn  by  knocks, 
but  they  are  painful.  There  be  two  things 
every  one  has  to  learn,  —  respect  for  himself ; 
respect  for  others.  Ye'll  know,  hereafter,  in 
the  land  o'  men  a  bear  has  to  keep  his  nose  up 
an'  his  ears  open  —  because  men  hurt.  Ye'll 
know  better,  also,  than  to  feed  on  the  ground  of 
another  bear  —  because  he  hurts.  Now,  were  I 
a  cub  an'  had  none  to  obey,  I'd  obey  meself. 
Ye  know  what's  right,  do  it ;  ye  know  what's 
wrong,  do  it  not.' 

"  '  One  thing  is  sure/  said  the  young  bear,  as 
he  limped  away ;  '  if  I  live,  there'll  not  be  a  bear 
in  the  woods  that'll  take  any  better  care  of  him 
self.' 

"Now  the  old  bear  knew  what  he  was  talk 
ing  about.  He  was,  I  maintain,  a  wise  an'  re- 


164  DARREL 

markable  bear.  We  learn  to  obey  others,  so 
that  by  an'  by  we  may  know  how  to  obey  our 
selves.  The  great  master  of  each  man  is  him 
self.  By  words  or  by  knocks  ye  will  learn  what 
is  right,  and  ye  must  do  it.  Dear  children,  ye 
must  soon  be  yer  own  masters.  There  be  many 
cruel  folk  in  the  world,  but  ye  have  only  one  to 
fear  —  yerself.  Ah!  ye  shall  find  him  a  hard 
man,  for,  if  he  be  much  offended,  he  will  make 
ye  drink  o'  the  cup  o'  fire.  Learn  to  obey  yer- 
selves,  an'  God  help  ye." 

Thereafter,  many  began  to  look  into  their 
own  hearts  for  that  fearful  master,  and  some 
discovered  him. 


XVI 


A  Rustic  Museitm 


HAT  first  week  Sidney  Trove 
9X  went  to  board  at  the  home  of 
1  fe  "the  two  old  maids,"  a  stone 
-*•  X  house  on  Jericho  Road,  with  a 
•^S^jjFg^lSs  front  door  rusting  on  idle  hinges 
and  blinds  ever  drawn.  It  was  a  hundred  feet 
or  more  from  the  highway,  and  in  summer 
there  were  flowers  along  the  path  from  its  little 
gate  and  vines  climbing  to  the  upper  windows. 
In  winter  its  garden  was  buried  deep  under  the 
snow.  One  family  —  the  Vaughns  —  came  once 
in  a  while  to  see  "  the  two  old  maids."  Few 
others  ever  saw  them  save  from  afar.  A  dress 
maker  came  once  a  year  and  made  gowns  for 
them,  that  were  carefully  hung  in  closets  but 
never  worn.  To  many  of  their  neighbours  they 
were  as  dead  as  if  they  had  been  long  in  their 
graves.  Tales  of  their  economy,  of  their  odd 
165 


i66  DARREL 

habits,  of  their  past,  went  over  hill  and  dale 
to  far  places.  They  had  never  boarded  the 
teacher  and  were  put  in  a  panic  when  the 
trustee  came  to  speak  of  it. 

"  He's  a  grand  young  man,"  said  he;  "good 
company  —  and  you'll  enjoy  it." 

They  looked  soberly  at  each  other.  Accord 
ing  to  tradition,  one  was  fifty-four  the  other 
fifty-five  years  of  age.  An  exclamation  broke 
from  the  lips  of  one.  It  sounded  like  the  letter 
y  whispered  quickly. 

"  Y !  "  the  other  answered. 

"  It  might  make  a  match,"  said  Mr.  Blount, 
the  trustee,  smiling. 

"  Y !  Samuel  Blount !  "  said  the  younger  one, 
coming  near  and  smiting  him  playfully  on  the 
elbow.  "  You  stop  !  " 

Miss  Letitia  began  laughing  silently.  They 
never  laughed  aloud. 

"  If  he  didn't  murder  us,"  said  Miss  S'mantha, 
doubtfully. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  trustee ;  "  I'll  answer 
for  him." 

"Can't  tell  what  men '11  do,"  she  persisted 
weakly.  "  When  I  was  in  Albany  with  Alma 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  167 

Haskins,  a  man  came  'long  an'  tried  t'  pass  the 
time  o'  day  with  us.  We  jes'  looked  t'other 
way  an'  didn't  preten'  t'  hear  him.  It's  awful 
t'  think  what  might  'a'  happened." 

She  wiped  invisible  tears  with  an  embroid 
ered  handkerchief.  The  dear  lady  had  spent  a 
good  part  of  her  life  thinking  of  that  narrow 
escape. 

"If  he  wa'n't  too  partic'lar,"  said  Miss 
Letitia,  who  had  been  laughing  at  this  maiden 
fear  of  her  sister. 

"  If  he  would  mind  his  business,  we  —  we 
might  take  him  for  one  week,"  said  Miss  S'man- 
tha.  She  glanced  inquiringly  at  her  sister. 

Letitia  and  S'mantha  Tower,  "the  two  old 
maids,"  had  but  one  near  relative  —  Ezra  Tower, 
a  brother  of  the  same  neighbourhood. 

There  were  two  kinds  of  people  in  Faraway, — 
those  that  Ezra  Tower  spoke  to  and  those  he 
didn't.  The  latter  were  of  the  majority.  As  a 
forswearer  of  communication  he  was  unrivalled. 
His  imagination  was  a  very  slaughter-house,  in 
which  all  who  crossed  him  were  slain.  If  they 
were  passing,  he  looked  the  other  way  and  never 
even  saw  them  again.  Since  the  probate  of  his 


1 68  BARREL 

father's  will  both  sisters  were  of  the  number 
never  spoken  to.  He  was  a  thin,  tall,  sullen, 
dry,  and  dusty  man.  Dressed  for  church  of  a 
Sunday,  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been  stored  a 
year  in  some  neglected  cellar.  His  broadcloth 
had  a  dingy  aspect,  his  hair  and  beard  and  eye 
brows  the  hue  of  a  cobweb.  He  had  a  voice 
slow  and  rusty,  a  look  arid  and  unfruitful. 
Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  the  fires  of  hate  and  envy 
had  burned  him  out. 

The  two  old  maids,  feeling  the  disgrace  of  it 
and  fearing  more,  ceased  to  visit  their  neigh 
bours  or  even  to  pass  their  own  gate.  Poor  Miss 
S'mantha  fell  into  the  deadly  mire  of  hypo 
chondria.  She  often  thought  herself  very  ill 
and  sent  abroad  for  every  medicine  advertised 
in  the  county  paper.  She  had  ever  a  faint  look 
and  a  thin,  sickly  voice.  She  had  the  man-fear, 
—  a  deep  distrust  of  men,  —  never  ceasing  to 
be  on  her  guard.  In  girlhood,  she  had  been  to 
Albany.  Its  splendour  and  the  reckless  conduct 
of  one  Alma  Haskins,  companion  of  her  travels, 
had  been  ever  since  a  day-long  perennial  topic 
of  her  conversation.  Miss  Letitia  was  more 
amiable.  She  had  a  playful,  cheery  heart  in 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  169 

her,  a  mincing  and  precise  manner,  and  a  sweet 
voice.  What  with  the  cleaning,  dusting,  and 
preserving,  they  were  ever  busy.  A  fly,  driven 
hither  and  thither,  fell  of  exhaustion  if  not  dis 
abled  with  a  broom.  They  were  two  weeks  get 
ting  ready  for  the  teacher.  When,  at  last,  he 
came  that  afternoon,  supper  was  ready  and 
they  were  nearly  worn  out. 

"  Here  he  is  !  "  one  whispered  suddenly  from 
a  window.  Then,  with  a  last  poke  at  her  hair, 
Miss  Letitia  admitted  the  teacher.  They  spoke 
their  greeting  in  a  half  whisper  and  stood  near, 
waiting  timidly  for  his  coat  and  cap. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  taking  them  to  a 
nail.  "  I  can  do  my  own  hanging,  as  the  man 
said  when  he  committed  suicide." 

Miss  S'mantha  looked  suspicious  and  walked 
to  the  other  side  of  the  stove.  Impressed  by 
the  silence  of  the  room,  much  exaggerated  by 
the  ticking  of  the  clock,  Sidney  Trove  sat  a 
moment  looking  around  him.  Daylight  had 
begun  to  grow  dim.  The  table,  with  its  cover 
of  white  linen,  was  a  thing  to  give  one  joy.  A 
ruby  tower  of  jelly,  a  snowy  summit  of  frosted 
cake,  a  red  pond  of  preserved  berries,  a  mound 


170  BARREL 

of  chicken  pie,  and  a  corduroy  marsh  of  mince, 
steaming  volcanoes  of  new  biscuit,  and  a  great 
heap  of  apple  fritters,  lay  in  a  setting  of  blue 
china.  They  stood  a  moment  by  the  stove,  — 
the  two  sisters,  —  both  trembling  in  this  unusual 
publicity.  Miss  Letitia  had  her  hand  upon  the 
teapot. 

"Our  tea  is  ready,"  said  she,  presently,  ad 
vancing  to  the  table.  She  spoke  in  a  low, 
gentle  tone. 

"  This  is  grand ! "  said  he,  sitting  down  with 
them.  "  I  tell  you,  we'll  have  fun  before  I 
leave  here." 

They  looked  up  at  him  and  then  at  each 
other,  Letitia  laughing  silently,  S'mantha  sus 
picious.  For  many  years  fun  had  been  a  thing 
far  from  their  thought. 

"  Play  checkers  ? "  he  inquired. 

"Afraid  we  couldn't,"  said  Miss  Letitia, 
answering  for  both. 

"Old  Sledge?" 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  lead  you  into  reckless 
ness,"  the  teacher  remarked,  "but  I'm  sure 
you  wouldn't  mind  being  happy." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  171 

Miss  S'mantha  had  a  startled  look. 

"In  — in  a  —  proper  way,"  he  added.  "  Let's 
be  joyful.  Perhaps  we  could  play  '  I  spy/  ' 

"  Y !  "  they  both  exclaimed,  laughing  silently. 

"  Never  ate  chicken  pie  like  that,"  he  added 
in  all  sincerity.  "  If  I  were  a  poet,  I'd  indite 
an  ode  'written  after  eating  some  of  the  ex 
cellent  chicken  pie  of  the  Misses  Tower.' 
I'm  going  to  have  some  like  it  on  my  farm." 

In  reaching  to  help  himself  he  touched  the 
teapot,  withdrawing  his  hand  quickly. 

"Burn  ye?"  said  Miss  S'mantha. 

"Yes;  but  I  like  it!"  said  he,  a  bit  embar 
rassed.  "  I  often  go  and  —  and  put  my  hand  on 
a  hot  teapot  if  I'm  having  too  much  fun." 

They  looked  up  at  him,  puzzled. 

"  Ever  slide  down  hill  ? "  he  inquired,  look 
ing  from  one  to  the  other,  after  a  bit  of  silence. 

"  Oh,  not  since  we  were  little ! "  said  Miss 
Letitia,  holding  her  biscuit  daintily,  after  taking 
a  bite  none  too  big  for  a  bird  to  manage. 

"  Good  fun  !  "  said  he.  "  Whisk  you  back  to 
childhood  in  a  jiffy.  Folks  ought  to  slide 
down  hill  more'n  they  do.  It  isn't  a  good 
idea  to  be  always  climbing." 


172  DARREL 

"  'Fraid  we  couldn't  stan'  it,"  said  Miss 
S'mantha,  tentatively.  Under  all  her  man-fear 
and  suspicion  lay  a  furtive  recklessness. 

"  Y,  no ! "  the  other  whispered,  laughing 
silently. 

The  pervading  silence  of  that  house  came 
flooding  in  between  sentences.  For  a  moment 
Trove  coulcl  hear  only  the  gurgle  of  pouring 
tea  and  the  faint  rattle  of  china  softly  handled. 
When  he  felt  as  if  the  silence  were  drowning 
him,  he  began  again  :  — 

"  Life  is  nothing  but  a  school.  I'm  a  teacher, 
and  I  deal  in  rules.  If  you  want  to  kill  misery, 
load  your  gun  with  pleasure." 

"  Do  you  know  of  anything  for  indiges 
tion  ? "  said  Miss  S'mantha,  charging  her 
sickly  voice  with  a  firmness  calculated  to  dis 
courage  any  undue  familiarity. 

"Just  the  thing  —  a  sure  cure!"  said  he, 
emphatically. 

"  Come  high  ? "  she  inquired. 

"  No,  it's  cheap  and  plenty." 

"Where  do  you  send?" 

"  Oh ! "  said  he ;  "  you  will  have  to  go 
after  it." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  173 

"What  is  it  called?" 

"Fun,"  said  the  teacher,  quickly;  "and  the 
place  to  find  it  is  out  of  doors.  It  grows  every 
where  on  my  farm.  I'd  rather  have  a  pair  of 
skates  than  all  the  medicine  this  side  of 
China." 

She  set  down  her  teacup  and  looked  up  at 
him.  She  was  beginning  to  think  him  a  fairly 
safe  and  well-behaved  man,  although  she  would 
have  been  more  comfortable  if  he  had  been 
shut  in  a  cage. 

"  If  I  had  a  pair  o'  skates,"  said  she,  faintly, 
with  a  look  of  inquiry  at  her  sister,  "  I  dunno 
but  I'd  try  'em." 

Miss  Letitia  began  to  laugh  silently. 

"I'd  begin  with  overshoes,"  said  the  teacher. 
"  A  pair  of  overshoes  and  a  walk  on  the  crust 
every  morning  before  breakfast;  increase  the 
dose  gradually." 

The  two  old  maids  were  now  more  at  ease 
with  their  guest.  His  kindly  manner  and 
plentiful  good  spirits  had  begun  to  warm  and 
cheer  them.  Miss  S'mantha  even  cherished  a 
secret  resolve  to  slide  if  the  chance  came. 

After  tea  Sidney  Trove,  against  their  protest, 


174  BARREL 

began  to  help  with  the  dishes.  Miss  S'mantha 
prudently  managed  to  keep  the  stove  between 
him  and  her.  A  fire  and  candles  were  burning 
in  the  parlour.  He  asked  permission,  however, 
to  stay  where  he  could  talk  with  them.  Tunk 
Hosely,  the  man  of  all  work,  came  in  for  his 
supper.  He  was  an  odd  character.  Some,  with 
a  finger  on  their  foreheads,  confided  the  opinion 
that  he  was  "  a  little  off."  All  agreed  he  was 
no  fool  —  in  a  tone  that  left  it  open  to  argu 
ment.  He  had  a  small  figure  and  a  big  squint. 
His  perpetual  squint  and  bristly,  short  beard 
were  a  great  injustice  to  him.  They  gave  him 
a  look  severer  than  he  deserved.  A  limp  and 
leaning  shoulder  complete  the  inventory  of 
external  traits.  Having  eaten,  he  set  a  candle 
in  the  old  barn  lantern. 

"  Wai,  mister,"  said  he,  when  all  was  ready, 
"  come  out  an'  look  at  my  hoss." 

The  teacher  went  with  him  out  under  a  sky 
bright  with  stars  to  the  chill  and  gloomy 
stable. 

"  Look  at  me,"  said  Tunk,  holding  up  the  lan 
tern  as  he  turned  about.  "  Gosh  all  fish-hooks  ! 
I'm  a  wreck." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  175 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  Sidney  Trove  inquired. 

"All  sunk  in  —  right  here,"  Tunk  answered 
impressively,  his  hand  to  his  chest. 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Kicked  by  a  hoss ;  that's  how  it  happened," 
was  the  significant  answer.  "Lord!  I'm  all 
shucked  over  t'  one  side  —  can't  ye  see  it  ? " 

"  A  list  t'  sta'b'rd  —  that's  what  they  call  it,  I 
believe,"  said  the  teacher. 

"  See  how  I  limp,"  Tunk  went  on,  striding  to 
show  his  pace.  "  Ain't  it  awful !  " 

"  How  did  that  happen  ?  " 

"Sprung  my  ex!"  he  answered,  turning 
quickly  with  a  significant  look.  "  Thrown  from 
a  sulky  in  a  hoss  race  an'  sprung  my  ex.  Lord ! 
can't  ye  see  it  ?  " 

The  teacher  nodded,  not  knowing  quite  how 
to  take  him. 

"  Had  my  knee  unsot,  too,"  he  went  on,  lifting 
his  knee  as  he  turned  the  light  upon  it.  "  Jes' 
put  yer  finger  there,"  said  he,  indicating  a  slight 
protuberance.  "  Lord !  it's  big  as  a  bog  spavin." 

He  had  planned  to  provoke  a  query,  and  it 
came. 

"  How  did  you  get  it  ? " 


176  BARREL 

"  Kicked  ag'in,"  said  Tunk,  sadly.  "  Heav 
ens  !  I've  had  my  share  o'  bangin'.  Can't 
conquer  a  skittish  hoss  without  sufferin'  some  — 
not  allwus.  Now,  here's  a  hoss,"  he  added,  as 
they  walked  to  a  stall.  "  He  ain't  much  t'  look 
at,  but  —  " 

He  paused  a  moment  as  he  neared  the  horse — 
a  white  and  ancient  palfrey.  He  stood  thought 
fully  on  "  cocked  ankles,"  every  leg  in  a  band 
age,  tail  and  mane  braided. 

"  Get  ap,  Prince,"  Tunk  shouted,  as  he  gave 
him  a  slap.  Prince  moved  aside,  betraying  evi 
dence  of  age  and  infirmity. 

"But — "  Tunk  repeated  with  emphasis. 

"  Ugly  ?  "  the  teacher  queried. 

"  Ugly  ! "  said  Tunk,  as  if  the  word  were  all 
too  feeble  for  the  fact  in  hand.  "  Reg'lar  hell 
on  wheels! — that's  what  he  is.  Look  out! 
don't  git  too  nigh  him.  He  ain't  no  conscience 
—  that  hoss  ain't." 

"  Is  he  fast  ? " 

"  Greased  lightnin' !  "  said  Tunk,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Won  twenty-seven  races." 

"You're  a  good  deal  of  a  horseman,  I  take 
it,"  said  the  teacher. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  177 

"Wai,  some,"  said  he,  expectorating  thought 
fully.  "  But  I  don't  have  no  chance  here. 
What  d'ye  'spect  of  a  man  livin'  with  them  ol' 
maids  ? " 

He  seemed  to  have  more  contempt  than  his 
words  would  carry. 

"  Every  night  they  lock  me  upstairs,"  he 
continued  with  a  look  of  injury;  "they  ain't  fit 
fer  nobody  t'  live  with.  Ain't  got  no  hoss  but 
that  dummed  ol'  plug." 

He  had  forgotten  his  enthusiasm  of  the  pre 
ceding  moment.  His  intellect  was  a  museum 
of  freaks.  Therein,  Vanity  was  the  prodigious 
fat  man,  Memory  the  dwarf,  and  Veracity  the 
living  skeleton.  When  Vanity  rose  to  show 
himself,  the  others  left  the  stage. 

Tunk's  face  had  become  suddenly  thoughtful 
and  morose.  In  truth,  he  was  an  arrant  and 
amusing  humbug.  It  has  been  said  that  chil 
dren  are  all  given  to  lying  in  some  degree,  but 
seeing  the  folly  of  it  in  good  time,  if,  indeed, 
they  are  not  convinced  of  its  wickedness,  train 
tongue  and  feeling  into  the  way  of  truth.  The 
respect  for  truth  that  is  the  beginning  of  wis 
dom  had  not  come  to  Tunk.  He  continued  to 


178  BARREL 

lie  with  the  cheerful  inconsistency  of  a  child. 
The  hero  of  his  youth  had  been  a  certain 
driver  of  trotting  horses,  who  had  a  limp  and  a 
leaning  shoulder.  In  Tunk,  the  limp  and  the 
leaning  shoulder  were  an  attainment  that  had 
come  of  no  sudden  wrench.  Such  is  the  power 
of  example,  he  admired,  then  imitated,  and  at 
last  acquired  them.  One  cannot  help  thinking 
what  graces  of  character  and  person  a  like 
persistency  would  have  brought  to  him.  But 
Tunk  had  equipped  himself  with  horsey  hero 
ism,  adorning  it  to  his  own  fancy.  He  had 
never  been  kicked,  he  had  never  driven  a  race 
or  been  hurled  from  a  sulky  at  full  speed. 
Prince,  that  ancient  palfrey,  was  the  most  harm 
less  of  all  creatures,  and  would  long  since  have 
been  put  out  of  misery  but  for  the  tender  con 
sideration  of  his  owners.  And  Tunk — well, 
they  used  to  say  of  him,  that  if  he  had  been 
truthful,  he  couldn't  have  been  alive. 

"  Sometime,"  Trove  thought,  "  his  folly  may 
bring  confusion  upon  wise  heads." 


XVII 

An  Event  in  the  Rustic  Museum 


s 


IDNEY  TROVE  sat  talking  a 
while  with  Miss  Letitia.  Miss 
S'mantha,  unable  longer  to  bear 
the  unusual  strain  of  danger 
and  publicity,  went  away  to 
bed  soon  after  supper.  Tunk  Hosely  came  in 
with  a  candle  about  nine. 

"Wai,  mister,"  said  he,  "you  ready  t'  go  t* 
bed  ? " 

"  I  am,"  said  Trove,  and  followed  him  to  the 
cold  hospitality  of  the  spare  room,  a  place  of 
peril  but  beautifully  clean.  There  was  a  neat 
rag  carpet  on  the  floor,  immaculate  tidies  on  the 
bureau  and  wash  table,  and  a  spotless  quilt  of 
patchwork  on  the  bed.  But,  like  the  dungeon 
of  mediaeval  times,  it  was  a  place  for  sighs  and 
reflection,  not  for  rest.  Half  an  inch  of  frost 
on  every  window-pane  glistened  in  the  dim 
light  of  the  candle. 

179 


i8o  BARREL 

"As  soon  as  they  unlock  my  door,  I'll  come 
an'  let  ye  out  in  the  mornin',"  Tunk  whispered. 

"  Are  they  going  to  lock  me  in  ?  " 

"Wouldn't  wonder,"  said  Tunk,  soberly. 
"  What  can  ye  'spect  from  a  couple  o'  dummed 
ol'  maids  like  them  ? " 

There  was  a  note  of  long  suffering  in  his 
half-whispered  tone. 

"  Good  night,  mister,"  said  he,  with  a  look  of 
dejection.  "  Orter  have  a  nightcap,  er  ye'll 
git  hoar-frost  on  yer  hair." 

Trove  was  all  a-shiver  in  the  time  it  took  him 
to  undress,  and  his  breath  came  out  of  him  in 
spreading  shafts  of  steam.  Sheets  of  flannel 
and  not  less  than  half  a  dozen  quilts  and  com 
fortables  made  a  cover,  under  which  the  heat 
of  his  own  blood  warmed  his  body.  He  be 
came  uncomfortably  aware  of  the  presence  of 
his  head  and  face,  however.  He  could  hear 
stealthy  movements  beyond  the  door,  and  knew 
they  were  barricading  it  with  furniture.  Long 
before  daylight  a  hurried  removal  of  the  barri 
cade  awoke  him.  Then  he  heard  a  rap  at  the 
door,  and  the  excited  voice  of  Tunk. 

"  Say,  mister !  come  here  quick,"  it  called. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  181 

Sidney  Trove  leaped  out  of  bed  and  into  his 
trousers.  He  hurried  through  the  dark  parlour, 
feeling  his  way  around  a  clump  of  chairs  and 
stumbling  over  a  sofa.  The  two  old  maids  were 
at  the  kitchen  door,  both  dressed,  one  holding 
a  lighted  candle.  Tunk  Hosely  stood  by  the 
door,  buttoning  suspenders  with  one  hand  and 
holding  a  musket  in  the  other.  They  were 
shivering  and  pale.  The  room  was  now  cold. 

"Hear  that!"  Tunk  whispered,  turning  to 
the  teacher. 

They  all  listened,  hearing  a  low,  weird  cry 
outside  the  door. 

"  Soun's  t'  me  like  a  raccoon,"  Miss  S'mantha 
whispered  thoughtfully. 

"Or  a  lamb,"  said  Miss  Letitia. 

"  Er  a  painter,"  Tunk  ventured,  his  ear  turn 
ing  to  catch  the  sound. 

"  Let's  open  the  door,"  said  Sidney  Trove, 
advancing. 

"  Not  me,"  said  Tunk,  firmly,  raising  his  gun. 

Trove  had  not  time  to  act  before  they  heard 
a  cry  for  help  on  the  doorstep.  It  was  the 
voice  of  a  young  girl.  He  opened  the  door, 
and  there  stood  Mary  Leblanc  —  a  scholar  of 


1 82  DARREL 

Linley  School  and  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
Frenchman.  She  came  in  lugging  a  baby 
wrapped  in  a  big  shawl,  and  both  crying. 

"Oh,  Miss  Tower,"  said  she;  "pa  has  come 
out  o'  the  woods  drunk  an'  has  threatened  to 
kill  the  baby.  Ma  wants  to  know  if  you'll 
keep  it  here  to-night." 

The  two  old  maids  wrung  their  hands  with 
astonishment  and  only  said  "y!" 

"  Of  course  we'll  keep  it,"  said  Trove,  as  he 
took  the  baby. 

"  I  must  hurry  back,"  said  the  girl,  now 
turning  with  a  look  of  relief. 

Tunk  shied  off  and  began  to  build  a  fire; 
Miss  S'mantha  sat  down  weeping,  the  girl  ran 
away  in  the  darkness,  and  Trove  put  the  baby 
in  Miss  Letitia's  arms. 

"I'll  run  over  to  Leblanc's  cabin,"  said  he, 
getting  his  cap  and  coat.  "They're  having 
trouble  over  there." 

He  left  them  and  hurried  off  on  his  way  to 
the  little  cabin. 

Loud  cries  of  the  baby  rang  in  that  abode  of 
silence.  It  began  to  kick  and  squirm  with 
determined  energy.  Poor  Miss  Letitia  had  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  183 

very  look  of  panic  in  her  face.  She  clung  to 
the  fierce  little  creature,  not  knowing  what  to 
do.  Miss  S'mantha  lay  back  in  a  fit  of  hys 
terics.  Tunk  advanced  bravely,  with  brows 
knit,  and  stood  looking  down  at  the  baby. 

"  Lord  !  this  is  awful !  "  said  he.  Then  a 
thought  struck  him.  "  I'll  git  some  milk,"  he 
shouted,  running  into  the  buttery. 

The  baby  thrust  the  cup  away,  and  it  fell 
noisily,  the  milk  streaming  over  a  new  rag 
carpet. 

"It's  sick;  I'm  sure  it's  sick,"  said  Miss 
Letitia,  her  voice  trembling.  "  S'mantha,  can't 
you  do  something  ?  " 

Miss  S'mantha  calmed  herself  a  little  and 
drew  near. 

"  Jes'  like  a  wil'cat,"  said  Tunk,  thoughtfully. 
"  Powerful,  too,"  he  added,  with  an  effort  to 
control  one  of  the  kicking  legs. 

"What  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Miss  Letitia. 

"  My  sister  had  a  baby  once,"  said  Tunk, 
approaching  it  doubtfully  but  with  a  studious 
look. 

He  made  a  few  passes  with  his  hand  in  front 
of  the  baby's  face.  Then  he  gave  it  a  little 


1 84  DARREL 

poke  in  the  ribs,  tentatively.  The  effect  was 
like  adding  insult  to  injury. 

"If  'twas  mine,"  said  Tank,  "which  I'm 
glad  it  ain't — I'd  rub  a  little  o'  that  hoss  lini 
ment  on  his  stummick." 

The  two  old  maids  took  the  baby  into  their 
bedroom.  It  was  an  hour  later  when  Trove 
came  back.  Tunk  sat  alone  by  the  kitchen  fire. 
There  was  yet  a  loud  wail  in  the  bedroom. 

"  What's  the  news  ? "  said  Tunk,  who  met 
him  at  the  door. 

"  Drunk,  that's  all,"  said  Trove.  "  I  took 
this  bottle,  sling-shot,  and  bar  of  iron  away 
from  him.  The  woman  thought  I  had  better 
bring  them  with  me  and  put  them  out  of  his 
way." 

He  laid  them  on  the  floor  in  a  corner. 

"  I  got  him  into  bed,"  he  continued,  "  and  then 
hid  the  axe  and  came  away.  I  guess  they're 
all  right  now.  When  I  left  he  had  begun  to 
snore." 

"Wai,  — we  ain't  all  right,"  said  Tunk,  point 
ing  to  the  room.  "  If  you  can  conquer  that 
thing,  you'll  do  well.  Poor  Miss  Teeshy  !  "  he 
added,  shaking  his  head. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  185 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  Trove  in 
quired. 

"  Kicked  in  the  stummick  'til  she  dunno  where 
she  is,"  said  Tunk,  gloomily. 

He  pulled  off  his  boots. 

"  If  she  don't  go  lame  t'morrer,  I'll  miss  my 
guess,"  he  added.  "She  looks  a  good  deal  like 
Deacon  Haskins  after  he  had  milked  thebrindle 
cow." 

He  leaned  back,  one  foot  upon  the  stove- 
hearth.  Shrill  cries  rang  in  the  old  house. 

"  'Druther  'twould  hev  been  a  painter,"  said 
Tunk,  sighing. 

"Why  so?" 

"  More  used  to  'em,"  said  Tunk,  sadly. 

They  listened  a  while  longer  without  speaking. 

"Ye  can't  drive  it,  ner  coax  it,  ner  scare  it 
away,  ner  do  nuthin'  to  it,"  said  Tunk,  pres 
ently. 

He  rose  and  picked  up  the  things  Trove  had 
brought  with  him.  "  I'll  take  these  to  the  barn," 
said  he;  "they'd  have  a  fit  —  if  they  was  t'  see 
'em.  What  be  they?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  they  are,"  said 
Trove. 


1 86  BARREL 

"Wai!"  said  Tunk.  "They're  queer  folks 
—  them  Frenchmen.  This  looks  like  an  iron 
bar  broke  in  two  in  the  middle." 

He  got  his  lantern,  picked  up  the  bottle,  the 
sling-shot,  and  the  iron,  and  went  away  to  the 
barn. 

Trove  went  to  the  bedroom  door  and 
rapped,  and  was  admitted.  He  went  to  work 
with  the  baby,  and  soon,  to  his  joy,  it  lay  asleep 
on  the  bed.  Then  he  left  the  room  on  tiptoe, 
and  a  bit  weary. 

"  A  very  full  day ! "  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Teacher,  counsellor,  martyr,  constable,  nurse  — 
I  wonder  what  next !  " 

And  as  he  went  to  his  room,  he  heard  Miss 
S'mantha  say  to  her  sister,  "I'm  thankful  it's 
not  a  boy,  anyway." 


XVIII 


A  Day  of  Difficulties 


LL  were  in  their  seats  and  the 
~  r^j     teacher    had    called    a    class. 
^-j      §     Carlt   Homer   came   in. 

"  You're  ten  minutes  late," 
said  the  teacher. 
"  I    have    fifteen    cows    to    milk,"    the    boy 
answered. 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"  'Bout  a  mile  from  here,  on  the  Beach 
Plains." 

"What  time  do  you  begin  milking?" 
"'Bout  seven  o'clock." 

"  I'll  go  to-morrow  morning  and  help  you," 
said  the  teacher.  "We  must  be  on  time  — 
that's  a  necessary  law  of  the  school." 

At    a    quarter    before    seven    in    the    morn 
ing,    Sidney   Trove   presented    himself    at   the 
187 


1 88  DARREL 

Homers'.  He  had  come  to  help  with  the  milk 
ing,  but  found  there  were  only  five  cows  to 
milk. 

"Too  bad  your  father  lost  so  many  cows  — 
all  in  a  day,"  said  he.  "  It's  a  great  pity.  Did 
you  lose  anything  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Have  you  felt  to  see?" 

The  boy  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

"Not  there  —  it's  an  inside  pocket,  way  in 
side  o'  you.  It's  where  you  keep  your  honour 
and  pride." 

"Wai,"  said  the  boy,  his  tears  starting,  "I'm 
'fraid  I  have." 

"Enough  said — good  morning,"  the  teacher 
answered  as  he  went  away. 

One  morning  a  few  days  later  the  teacher 
opened  his  school  with  more  remarks. 

"The  other  day,"  said  he,  "I  spoke  of  a 
thing  it  was  very  necessary  for  us  to  learn. 
What  was  it  ?  " 

"To  obey,"  said  a  youngster. 

"Obey  what?"   the  teacher  inquired. 

"  Law,"  somebody  ventured. 

"  Correct ;    we're  studying   law  —  every  one 


of  tie  BLESSED    ISLES  189 

of  us —  the  laws  of  grammar,  of  arithmetic,  of 
reading,  and  so  on.  We  are  learning  to  obey 
them.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  what  is  the 
greatest  law  in  the  world  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  the 
teacher  wrote  these  words  in  large  letters  on 
the  blackboard:  "Thou  shalt  not  lie." 

"  There  is  the  law  of  laws,"  said  the  teacher, 
solemnly.  "  Better  never  have  been  born  than 
not  learn  to  obey  it.  If  you  always  tell  the 
truth,  you  needn't  worry  about  any  other  law. 
Words  are  like  money  —  some  are  genuine, 
some  are  counterfeit.  If  a  man  had  a  bag  of 
counterfeit  money  and  kept  passing  it,  in  a 
little  while  nobody  would  take  his  money.  I 
knew  a  man  who  said  he  killed  four  bears  at 
one  shot.  There's  some  that  see  too  much 
when  they're  looking  over  their  own  gun-bar 
rels.  Don't  be  one  of  that  kind.  Don't  ever 
kill  too  many  bears  at  a  shot." 

After  that,  in  the  Linley  district,  a  man  who 
lied  was  said  to  be  killing  too  many  bears  at 
a  shot. 

Good  thoughts  spread  with  slow  but  sure  con 
tagion.  There  were  some  who  understood  the 


190 


BARREL 


teacher.  His  words  went  home  and  far  with 
them,  even  to  their  graves,  and  how  much  far 
ther  who  can  say?  They  went  over  the  hills, 
indeed,  to  other  neighbourhoods,  and  here  they 
are,  still  travelling,  and  going  now,  it  may  be, 
to  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth.  The  big 
boys  talked  about  this  matter  of  lying  and  de 
clared  the  teacher  was  right. 

"There's  Tunk  Hosely,"  said  Sam  Price. 
"  Nobody'd  take  his  word  for  nuthin'." 

"  'Less  he  was  t'  say  he  was  a  fool  out  an' 
out,"  another  boy  suggested. 

"Dunno  as  I'd  b'lieve  him  then,"  said  Sam. 
"  Per  I'd  begin  t'  think  he  knew  suthin'." 

A  little  girl  came  in,  crying,  one  day. 

"  What  is  the  trouble  ? "  said  the  teacher, 
tenderly,  as  he  leaned  over  and  put  his  arm 
around  her. 

"My  father  is  sick,"  said  the  child,  sob 
bing. 

"Very  sick?"   the  teacher  inquired. 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  answer,  but 
stood  shaken  with  sobs. 

"The  doctor  says  he  can't  live,"  said  she, 
brokenly. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  191 

A  solemn  stillness  fell  in  the  little  school 
room.  The  teacher  lifted  the  child  and  held 
her  close  to  his  broad  breast  a  moment. 

"Be  brave,  little  girl,"  said  he,  patting  her 
head  gently.  "  Doctors  don't  always  know. 
He  may  be  better  to-morrow." 

He  took  the  child  to  her  seat,  and  sat  be 
side  her  and  whispered  a  moment,  his  mouth 
close  to  her  ear.  And  what  he  said,  none 
knew,  save  the  girl  herself,  who  ceased  to  cry 
in  a  moment  but  never  ceased  to  remember 
it. 

A  long  time  he  sat,  with  his  arm  around  her, 
questioning  the  classes.  He  seemed  to  have 
taken  his  place  between  her  and  the  dark 
shadow. 

Joe  Beach  had  been  making  poor  headway 
in  arithmetic. 

"I'll  come  over  this  evening,  and  we'll  see 
what's  the  trouble.  It's  all  very  easy,"  the 
teacher  said. 

He  worked  three  hours  with  the  young  man 
that  evening,  and  filled  him  with  high  ambition 
after  hauling  him  out  of  his  difficulty. 

But  of  all  difficulties  the  teacher  had  to  deal 


192  DARREL 

with,  Polly  Vaughn  was  the  greatest.  She  was 
nearly  perfect  in  all  her  studies,  but  a  little 
mischievous  and  very  dear  to  him.  "  Pretty  ;  " 
that  is  one  thing  all  said  of  her  there  in  Far 
away,  and  they  said  also  with  a  bitter  twang 
that  she  loved  to  lie  abed  and  read  novels. 
To  Sidney  Trove  the  word  "  pretty"  was  inade 
quate.  As  to  lying  abed  and  reading  novels, 
he  was  free  to  say  that  he  believed  in  it. 

"We  get  very  indignant  about  slavery  in 
the  south,"  he  used  to  say;  "but  how  about 
slavery  on  the  northern  farms  ?  I  know  peo 
ple  who  rise  at  cock-crow  and  strain  their 
sinews  in  heavy  toil  the  livelong  day,  and 
spend  the  Sabbath  trembling  in  the  lonely 
shadow  of  the  Valley  of  Death.  I  know  a 
man  who  whipped  his  boy  till  he  bled  because 
he  ran  away  to  go  fishing.  It's  all  slavery, 
pure  and  simple." 

"  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat 
bread  till  thou  return  unto  the  ground,"  said 
Ezra  Tower. 

"  If  God  said  it,  he  made  slaves  of  us  all," 
said  young  Trove.  "  When  I  look  around 
here  and  see  people  wasted  to  the  bone  with 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  193 

sweat  and  toil,  too  weary  often  to  eat  the  bread 
they  have  earned,  when  I  see  their  children 
dying  of  consumption  from  excess  of  labour 
and  pork  fat,  I  forget  the  slaves  of  man  and 
think  only  of  these  wretched  slaves  of  God." 

But  Polly  was  not  of  them  the  teacher  pitied. 
She  was  a  bit  discontented ;  but  surely  she  was 
cheerful  and  well  fed.  God  gave  her  beauty, 
and  the  widow  saw  it,  and  put  her  own  strength 
between  the  curse  and  the  child.  Polly  had 
her  task  every  day,  but  Polly  had  her  way,  also, 
in  too  many  things,  and  became  a  bit  selfish, 
as  might  have  been  expected.  But  there  was 
something  very  sweet  and  fine  about  Polly. 
They  were  plain  clothes  she  wore,  but  no 
body  save  herself  and  mother  gave  them  any 
thought.  Who,  seeing  her  big,  laughing  eyes, 
her  finely  modelled  face,  with  cheeks  pink  and 
dimpled,  her  shapely,  white  teeth,  her  mass 
of  dark  hair,  crowning  a  form  tall  and  straight 
as  an  arrow,  could  see  anything  but  the  merry- 
hearted  Polly? 

"Miss  Vaughn,  you  will  please  remain  a 
few  moments  after  school,"  said  the  teacher 
one  day  near  four  o'clock.  Twice  she  had  been 


194  BARREL 

caught  whispering  that  day,  with  the  young 
girl  who  sat  behind  her.  Trove  had  looked 
down,  stroking  his  little  mustache  thoughtfully, 
and  made  no  remark.  The  girl  had  gone  to 
work,  then,  her  cheeks  red  with  embarrassment. 

"  I  wish  you'd  do  me  a  favour,  Miss  Polly," 
said  the  teacher,  when  they  were  alone. 

She  blushed  deeply,  and  sat  looking  down 
as  she  fussed  with  her  handkerchief.  She  was 
a  bit  frightened  by  the  serious  air  of  that  big 
young  man. 

"  It  isn't  much,"  he  went  on.  "  I'd  like  you 
to  help  me  teach  a  little.  To-morrow  morning 
I  shall  make  a  map  on  the  blackboard,  and 
while  I  am  doing  it  I'd  like  you  to  conduct 
the  school.  When  you  have  finished  with  the 
primer  class  I'll  be  ready  to  take  hold  again." 

She  had  a  puzzled  look. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  punish  me," 
she  answered,  smiling. 

"For  what?"  he  inquired. 

"Whispering,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  But  you  have  read  Walter  Scott, 
and  you  know  ladies  are  to  be  honoured,  not 
punished.  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  do  such 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  195 

a  thing.  When  you've  become  a  teacher  you'll 
see  I'm  right  about  whispering.  May  I  walk 
home  with  you  ?  " 

Polly  had  then  a  very  serious  look.  She 
turned  away,  biting  her  lip,  in  a  brief  struggle 
for  self-mastery. 

"  If  you  care  to,"  she  whispered. 

They  walked  away  in  silence. 

"  Do  you  dance  ?  "  she  inquired  presently. 

"  No,  save  attendance  on  your  pleasure," 
said  he.  "  Will  you  teach  me  ?  " 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  teach  you  ?  "  She 
looked  up  at  him  playfully. 

"Wisdom,"  said  he,  quickly,  "and  how  to 
preserve  blueberries,  and  make  biscuit  like  those 
you  gave  us  when  I  came  to  tea.  As  to  danc 
ing,  well  —  I  fear  '  I  am  not  shaped  for  sportive 
tricks.' " 

"If  you'll  stay  this  evening,"  said  she,  "we'll 
have  some  more  of  my  blueberries  and  bis 
cuit,  and  then,  if  you  care  to,  we'll  try  danc- 
ing." 

"  You'll  give  me  a  lesson  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  If  you'd  care  to  have  me." 

"  Agreed ;  but  first  let  us  have  the  blueberries 


196  BARREL 

and  biscuit,"  said  he,  heartily,  as  they  entered 
the  door.  "  Hello,  Mrs.  Vaughn,  I  came  over 
to  help  you  eat  supper.  I  have  it  all  planned. 
Paul  is  to  set  the  table,  I'm  to  peel  the  potatoes 
and  fry  the  pork,  Polly  is  to  make  the  biscuit 
and  gravy  and  put  the  kettle  on.  You  are  to 
sit  by  and  look  pleasant." 

"  I  insist  on  making  the  tea,"  said  Mrs. 
Vaughn,  with  amusement. 

"  Shall  we  let  her  make  the  tea  ?  "  he  asked, 
looking  thoughtfully  at  Polly. 

"  Perhaps  we'd  better,"  said  she,  laughing. 

"All  right;  we'll  let  her  make  the  tea  —  we 
don't  have  to  drink  it." 

"You,"  said  the  widow,  "are  like  Governor 
Wright,  who  said  to  Mrs.  Perkins,  '  Madam,  I 
will  praise  your  tea,  but  hang  me  if  I'll  drink 
it.' " 

"  I'm  going  to  teach  the  primer  class  in  the 
morning,"  said  Polly,  as  she  filled  the  tea-kettle. 

"  Look  out,  young  man,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughn, 
turning  to  the  teacher.  "  In  a  short  time  she'll 
be  thinking  she  can  teach  you." 

"  I  get  my  first  lesson  to-night,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  She's  to  teach  me  dancing." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  197 

"  And  you've  no  fear  for  your  soul  ? " 

"  I've  more  fear  for  my  body,"  said  he,  glanc 
ing  down  upon  his  long  figure.  "  I've  never 
lifted  my  feet  save  for  the  purpose  of  transpor 
tation.  I'd  like  to  learn  how  to  dance  because 
Deacon  Tower  thinks  it  wicked  and  I've  learned 
that  happiness  and  sin  mean  the  same  thing  in 
his  vocabulary." 

"  I  fear  you're  a  downward  and  backsliding 
youth,"  said  the  widow. 

"  You  know  what  Ezra  Tower  said  of  Eben- 
ezer  Fisher,  that  he  was  'one  o'  them  mush- 
heads  that  didn't  believe  in  hell '  ?  Are  you  one 
o'  that  kind  ? "  Proclaimers  of  literal  thought 
were  at  work  there  in  the  north. 

"  Since  I  met  Deacon  Tower  I'm  sure  it's 
useful  and  necessary.  He's  got  to  have  some 
place  for  his  enemies.  If  it  were  not  for  hell, 
the  deacon  would  be  miserable  here  and,  maybe, 
happy  hereafter." 

"  It's  a  great  hope  and  comfort  to  him,"  said 
the  widow,  smiling. 

"  Well,  God  save  us  all !  "  said  Trove,  who  had 
now  a  liking  for  both  the  phrase  and  philosophy 
of  Darrel.  They  had  taken  chairs  at  the  table. 


1 98  BARREL 

"Tom,"  said  he,  "we'll  pause  a  moment,  while 
you  give  us  the  fourth  rule  of  syntax." 

"  Correct,"  said  he,  heartily,  as  the  last  word 
was  spoken.  "  Now  let  us  be  happy." 

"  Paul,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he  finished  eating, 
"  what  is  the  greatest  of  all  laws  ?  " 

"  Thou  shalt  not  lie,"  said  the  boy,  promptly. 

"Correct,"  said  Trove;  "and  in  the  full 
knowledge  of  the  law,  I  declare  that  no  better 
blueberries  and  biscuit  ever  passed  my  lips." 

Supper  over,  Polly  disappeared,  and  young 
Mr.  Trove  helped  with  the  dishes.  Soon  Polly 
came  back,  glowing  in  her  best  gown  and 
slippers. 

"  Why,  of  all  things  !  What  a  foolish  child  !  " 
said  her  mother.  For  answer  Polly  waltzed  up 
and  down  the  room,  singing  gayly. 

She  stopped  before  the  glass  and  began  to 
fuss  with  her  ribbons.  The  teacher  went  to  her 
side. 

"  May  I  have  the  honour,  Miss  Vaughn,"  said 
he,  bowing  politely.  "  Is  that  the  way  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  might  say,  '  Will  you  be  my  pardner,'  " 
said  she,  mimicking  the  broad  dialect  of  the 
region. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  199 

"I'll  sacrifice  my  dignity,  but  not  my  lan 
guage,"  said  he.  "  Let  us  dance  and  be  merry, 
for  to-morrow  we  teach." 

"  If  you'll  watch  my  feet,  you'll  see  how  I  do 
it,"  said  she ;  and  lifting  her  skirt  above  her 
dainty  ankles,  glided  across  the  floor  on  tiptoe, 
as  lightly  as  a  fawn  at  play.  But  Sidney  Trove 
was  not  a  graceful  creature.  The  muscles  on 
his  lithe  form,  developed  in  the  school  of  work 
or  in  feats  of  strength  at  which  he  had  met  no 
equal,  were  untrained  in  all  graceful  trickery. 
He  loved  dancing  and  music  and  everything 
that  increased  the  beauty  and  delight  of  life, 
but  they  filled  him  with  a  deep  regret  of  his 
ignorance. 

"  Hard  work,"  said  he,  breathing  heavily, 
"and  I  don't  believe  I'm  having  as  much  fun 
as  you  are." 

The  small  company  of  spectators  had  been 
laughing  with  amusement. 

"  Reminds  me  of  a  story,"  said  the  teacher. 
"  'What  are  all  the  animals  crying  about  ? '  said 
one  elephant  to  another.  '  Why,  don't  you  know  ? 
—  it's  about  the  reindeer,'  said  the  other  ele 
phant  ;  '  he's  dead.  Never  saw  anything  so  sad 


200  BARREL 

in  my  life.  He  skipped  so,  and  made  a  noise 
like  that,  and  then  he  died.'  The  elephant 
jumped  up  and  down,  trying  the  light  skip  of 
the  reindeer  and  gave  a  great  roar  for  the 
bleat  of  the  dying  animal.  'What,'  said  the 
first  elephant,  *  did  he  skip  so,  and  cry  that 
way  ? '  And  he  tried  it.  '  No,  not  that  way 
but  this  way,'  said  the  other;  and  he  went 
through  it  again.  By  this  time  every  animal 
in  the  show  had  begun  to  roar  with  laughter. 
'  What  on  earth  are  you  doing  ? '  said  the 
rhinoceros.  '  It's  the  way  the  reindeer  died,' 
said  one  of  the  elephants. 

" '  Never  saw  anything  so  funny,'  said  the 
rhinoceros ;  '  if  the  poor  thing  died  that  way,  it's 
a  pity  he  couldn't  repeat  the  act.' 

" '  This  is  terrible,'  said  the  zebra,  straining 
at  his  halter.  '  The  reindeer  is  dead,  and  the 
elephants  have  gone  crazy.' ': 

"  Sidney  Trove,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he  was 
walking  away  that  evening,  "  you'll  have  to 
look  out  for  yourself.  You're  a  teacher  and 
you  ought  to  be  a  man  —  you  must  be  a  man 
or  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you." 


XIX 

Amusement  and  Learning 


HERE  was  much  doing  that 
winter  in  the  Linley  district. 
They  were  a  month  getting 
ready  for  the  school  "exhibi 
tion."  Every  home  in  the  val 
ley  and  up  Cedar  Hill  rang  with  loud  declama 
tions.  The  impassioned  utterances  of  James 
Otis,  Daniel  Webster,  and  Patrick  Henry  were 
heard  in  house,  and  field,  and  stable.  Every 
evening  women  were  busy  making  costumes  for 
a  play,  while  the  young  rehearsed  their  parts. 
Polly  Vaughn,  editor  of  a  paper  to  be  read 
that  evening,  searched  the  countryside  for  liter 
ary  talent.  She  found  a  young  married  woman, 
who  had  spent  a  year  in  the  State  Normal  School, 
and  who  put  her  learning  at  the  service  of  Polly, 
in  a  composition  treating  the  subject  of  intem 
perance.  Miss  Betsey  Leech  sent  in  what  she 

201 


202  BARREL 

called  "a  piece"  entitled  "Home."  Polly,  her 
self,  wrote  an  editorial  on  "  Our  Teacher,"  and 
there  was  hemming  and  hawing  when  she  read 
it,  declaring  they  all  had  learned  much,  even  to 
love  him.  Her  mother  helped  her  with  the 
alphabetical  rhymes,  each  a  couplet  of  senti 
mental  history,  as,  for  example:  — 

"  A  is  for  Alson,  a  jolly  young  man, 
He'll  marry  Miss  Betsey,  they  say,  if  he  can." 

They  trimmed  the  little  schoolhouse  with 
evergreen  and  erected  a  small  stage,  where  the 
teacher's  desk  had  been.  Sheets  were  hung, 
for  curtains,  on  a  ten-foot  rod. 

A  while  after  dark  one  could  hear  a  sound  of 
sleigh-bells  in  the  distance.  Away  on  drifted 
pike  and  crossroad  the  bells  began  to  fling 
their  music.  It  seemed  to  come  in  rippling 
streams  of  sound  through  the  still  air,  each 
with  its  own  voice.  In  half  an  hour  countless 
echoes  filled  the  space  between  them,  and  all 
were  as  one  chorus,  wherein,  as  it  came  near, 
one  could  distinguish  song  and  laughter. 

Young  people  from  afar  came  in  cutters  and 
by  the  sleigh  load  ;  those  who  lived  near,  afoot 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  203 

with  lanterns.  They  were  a  merry  company, 
crowding  the  schoolhouse,  laughing  and  whis 
pering  as  they  waited  for  the  first  exhibit. 
Trove  called  them  to  order  and  made  a  few 
remarks. 

"Remember,"  said  he,  "this  is  not  our  exhi 
bition.  It  is  only  a  sort  of  preparation  for  one 
we  have  planned.  In  about  twenty  years  the 
Linley  School  is  to  give  an  exhibition  worth 
seeing.  It  will  be,  I  believe,  an  exhibition  of 
happiness,  ability,  and  success  on  the  great 
stage  of  the  world.  Then  I  hope  to  have  on 
the  programme  speeches  in  Congress,  in  the 
pulpit,  and  at  the  bar.  You  shall  see  in  that 
play,  if  I  mistake  not,  homes  full  of  love  and 
honour,  men  and  women  of  fair  fame.  It  may 
be  you  shall  see,  then,  some  whose  names  are 
known  and  honoured  of  all  men." 

Each  performer  quaked  with  fear,  and  both 
sympathy  and  approval  were  in  the  applause. 
Miss  Polly  Vaughn  was  a  rare  picture  of  rustic 
beauty,  her  cheeks  as  red  as  her  ribbons,  her 
voice  low  and  sweet.  Trove  came  out  in  the 
audience  for  a  look  at  her  as  she  read.  Ring 
ing  salvos  of  laughter  greeted  the  play  and 


206  DARREL 

The  singing-school  added  little  to  the  know 
ledge  or  the  cheerfulness  of  that  neighbour 
hood.  It  came  to  an  end  the  last  day  of  the 
winter  term.  As  usual,  Trove  went  home  with 
Polly.  It  was  a  cold  night,  and  as  the  crowd 
left  them  at  the  corners  he  put  his  arm  around 
her. 

"School  is  over,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh,  "and 
I'm  sorry." 

"  For  me  ? "  he  inquired. 

"  For  myself,"  she  answered,  looking  down 
at  the  snowy  path. 

There  came  a  little  silence  crowded  with 
happy  thoughts. 

"  At  first,  I  thought  you  very  dreadful,"  she 
went  on,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  smile.  He 
could  see  her  sweet  face  in  the  moonlight  and 
was  tempted  to  kiss  it. 

"Why?" 

"  You  were  so  terrible,"  she  answered.  "  Poor 
Joe  Beach !  It  seemed  as  if  he  would  go 
through  the  wall." 

"Well,  something  had  to  happen  to  him," 
said  the  teacher. 

"  He  likes  you  now,  and  every  one  likes  you 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  207 

here.  I  wish  we  could  have  you  always  for  a 
teacher." 

"  I'd  be  willing  to  be  your  teacher,  always, 
if  I  could  only  teach  you  what  you  have 
taught  me." 

"  Oh,  dancing,"  said  she,  merrily ;  "  that  is 
nothing.  I'll  give  you  all  the  lessons  you 
like." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  let  you  teach  me  that  again," 
said  he. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  your  pretty  feet  trample  on  me." 

Then  came  another  silence. 

"  Don't  you  enjoy  it  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  off 
at  the  stars. 

"Too  much,"  said  he.  "First,  I  must  teach 
you  something  —  if  I  can." 

He  was  ready  for  a  query,  if  it  came,  but  she 
put  him  off. 

"  I  intend  to  be  a  grand  lady,"  said  she,  "  and, 
if  you  do  not  learn,  you'll  never  be  able  to 
dance  with  me." 

"  There'll  be  others  to  dance  with  you,"  said 
he.  "  I  have  so  much  else  to  do." 

"Oh,  you're  always  thinking   about   algebra 


204  DARREL 

stirred  the  sleigh-bells  on  the  startled  horses 
beyond  the  door.  The  programme  over,  some 
body  called  for  Squire  Town,  a  local  pettifog 
ger,  who  flung  his  soul  and  body  into  every 
cause.  He  often  sored  his  knuckles  on  the 
court  table  and  racked  his  frame  with  the  vio 
lence  of  his  rhetoric.  He  had  a  stock  of  im 
passioned  remarks  ready  for  all  occasions. 

He  rose,  walked  to  the  centre  of  the  stage, 
looked  sternly  at  the  people,  and  addressed 
them  as  "  Fellow  Citizens."  He  belaboured  the 
small  table;  he  rose  on  tiptoe  and  fell  upon 
his  heels;  often  he  seemed  to  fling  his  words 
with  a  rapid  jerk  of  his  right  arm  as  one  hurls 
a  pebble.  It  was  all  in  praise  of  his  "  young 
friend,"  the  teacher,  and  the  high  talent  of 
Linley  School. 

The  exhibition  ended  with  this  rare  exhibit 
of  eloquence.  Trove  announced  the  organiza 
tion  of  a  singing-school  for  Monday  evening 
of  the  next  week,  and  then  suppressed  emo 
tion  burst  into  noise.  The  Linley  school- 
house  had  become  as  a  fount  of  merry  sound 
in  the  still  night;  then  the  loud  chorus  of  the 
bells,  diminishing  as  they  went  away,  and 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  205 

breaking  into  streams  of  music  and  dying 
faint  in  the  far  woodland. 

One  Nelson  Cartright — a  jack  of  all 
trades  they  called  him  —  was  the  singing-mas 
ter.  He  was  noted  far  and  wide  for  song  and 
penmanship.  Every  year  his  intricate  flour 
ishes  in  black  and  white  were  on  exhibition 
at  the  county  fair. 

"Wai,  sir,"  men  used  to  say  thoughtfully, 
"ye  wouldn't  think  he  knew  beans.  Why, 
he's  got  a  fist  bigger'n  a  ham.  But  I  tell  ye, 
let  him  take  a  pen,  sir,  and  he'll  draw  a  deer 
so  nat'ral,  sir,  ye'd  swear  he  could  jump  over 
a  six-rail  fence.  Why,  it  is  wonderful !  " 

Every  winter  he  taught  the  arts  of  song  and 
penmanship  in  the  four  districts  from  Jericho  to 
Cedar  Hill.  He  sang  a  roaring  bass  and  beat 
the  time  with  dignity  and  precision.  For  weeks 
he  drilled  the  class  on  a  bit  of  lyric  melody,  of 
which  a  passage  is  here  given :  — 

"  One,  two,  three,  ready,  sing,"  he  would 
say,  his  ruler  cutting  the  air,  and  all  began :  — 

Listen  to  the  bird,  and  the  maid,  and  the  humblebee, 

Tra,  la  la  la  la,  tra,  la  la  la  la, 
Joyfully  we'll  sing  the  gladsome  melody, 

Tra,  la,  la,  la,  la. 


ao8  BARREL 

and  arithmetic  and  those  dreadful  things,"  said 
she. 

"  No,  I'm  thinking  now  of  something  very 
different." 

"  Grammar,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  looking 
down. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  conjugations  ?  " 

"  Try  me,"  said  she. 

"  Give  me  the  first  person  singular,  passive 
voice,  present  tense,  of  the  verb  to  love." 

"  I  am  loved,"  was  her  answer,  as  she  looked 
away. 

"  And  don't  you  know  —  I  love  you,"  said 
he,  quickly. 

"  That  is  the  active  voice,"  said  she,  turning 
with  a  smile. 

"  Polly,"  said  he,  "  I  love  you  as  I  could  love 
no  other  in  the  world." 

He  drew  her  close,  and  she  looked  up  at  him 
very  soberly. 

"  You  love  me  ? "  she  said  in  a  half  whisper. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  he  answered.  "I  hope 
you  will  love  me  sometime." 

Their  lips  came  together. 

"  I  do  not  ask  you,  now,  to  say  that  you  love 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  209 

me,"  said  the  young  man.  "  You  are  young  and 
do  not  know  your  own  heart." 

She  rose  on  tiptoe  and  fondly  touched  his 
cheek  with  her  fingers. 

"  But  I  do  love  you,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  thank  God  you  have  told  me,  but  I  shall 
ask  you  for  no  promise.  A  year  from  now, 
then,  dear,  I  shall  ask  you  to  promise  that  you 
will  be  my  wife  sometime." 

"  Oh,  let  me    promise  now,"  she  whispered. 

"  Promise  only  that  you  will  love  me  if  you 
see  none  you  love  better." 

They  were  slowly  nearing  the  door.  Sud 
denly  she  stopped,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  love  me  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered. 

"Sure?" 

"As  sure  as  I  am  that  I  live." 

"  And  will  love  me  always  ?  " 

"Always,"  he  answered. 

She  drew  his  head  down  a  little  and  put 
her  lips  to  his  ear.  "  Then  I  shall  love  you 
always,"  she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Vaughn  was  waiting  for  them  at  the 
fireside.  They  sat  talking  a  while. 


210  DARREL 

"  You  go  off  to  bed,  Polly,"  said  the  teacher, 
presently.  "  I've  something  to  say,  and  you're 
not  to  hear  it." 

"I'll  listen,"  said  she,  laughing. 

"Then  we'll  whisper,"  Trove  answered. 

"That  isn't  fair,"  said  she,  with  a  look  of 
injury,  as  she  held  the  candle.  "  Besides,  you 
don't  allow  it  yourself." 

"  Polly  ought  to  go  away  to  school,"  said  he, 
after  Polly  had  gone  above  stairs.  "She's  a 
bright  girl." 

"And  I  so  poor  I'm  always  wondering 
what'll  happen  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughn. 
"The  farm  has  a  mortgage,  and  it's  more 
than  I  can  do  to  pay  the  interest.  Some  day 
I'll  have  to  give  it  up." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  help  you,"  said  the  young 
man,  feeling  the  fur  on  his  cap. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence. 

"  Fact  is,"  said  the  young  man,  a  bit  em 
barrassed,  "fact  is,  I  love  Polly." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Trove  could 
hear  the  tick  of  his  watch. 

"  Have  ye  spoken  to  her  ? "  said  the  widow, 
with  a  serious  look. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  211 

"I've  told  her  frankly  to-night  that  I  love 
her,"  said  he.  "  I  couldn't  help  it,  she  was  so 
sweet  and  beautiful." 

"  If  you  couldn't  help  it,  I  don't  see  how  I 
could,"  said  she.  "But  Polly's  only  a  child. 
She's  a  big  girl,  I  know,  but  she's  only 
eighteen." 

"  I  haven't  asked  her  for  any  promise.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair.  She  must  have  a  chance  to 
meet  other  young  men,  but,  sometime,  I  hope 
she  will  be  my  wife." 

"Poor  children!"  said  Mrs.  Vaughn,  "you 
don't  either  of  you  know  what  you're  doing." 

He  rose  to  go. 

"  I  was  a  little  premature,"  he  added,  "  but 
you  mustn't  blame  me.  Put  yourself  in  my 
place.  If  you  were  a  young  man  and  loved 
a  girl  as  sweet  as  Polly  and  were  walking 
home  with  her  on  a  moonlit  night  — " 

"  I  presume  there'd  be  more  or  less  love- 
making,"  said  the  widow.  "She  is  a  pretty 
thing  and  has  the  way  of  a  woman.  We 
were  speaking  of  you  the  other  day,  and  she 
said  to  me  :  *  He  is  ungrateful.  You  can  teach 
the  primer  class  for  him,  and  be  so  good  that 


212  BARREL 

you  feel  perfectly  miserable,  and  give  him  les 
sons  in  dancing,  and  put  on  your  best  clothes, 
and  make  biscuit  for  him,  and  then,  perhaps, 
he'll  go  out  and  talk  with  the  hired  man.' 
'  Polly,'  said  I,  '  you're  getting  to  be  very 
foolish.'  'Well,  it  comes  so  easy,'  said  she. 
*  It's  my  one  talent.'  " 


XX 

At  tlie   TJieatre  of  the   Woods 


EXT  day  Trove  went  home. 
He  took  with  him  many  a 
souvenir  of  his  first  term,  in 
cluding  a  scarf  that  Polly  had 
knit  for  him,  and  the  curious 
things  he  took  from  the  Frenchman  Leblanc, 
and  which  he  retained  partly  because  they 
were  curious  and  partly  because  Mrs.  Leblanc 
had  been  anxious  to  get  rid  of  them.  He  soon 
rejoined  his  class  at  Hillsborough,  having  kept 
abreast  of  it  in  history  and  mathematics  by 
work  after  school  and  over  the  week's  end. 
He  was  content  to  fall  behind  in  the  classics, 
for  they  were  easy,  and  in  them  his  arrears 
gave  him  no  terror.  Walking  for  exercise,  he 
laid  the  plan  of  his  tale  and  had  written  some 
bits  of  verse.  Of  an  evening  he  went  often 
to  the  Sign  of  the  Dial,  and  there  read  his 
213 


214  BARREL 

lines  and  got  friendly  but  severe  criticism. 
He  came  into  the  shop  one  evening,  his 
"  Horace  "  under  his  arm. 

" '  Maecenas,  atavis,  edite  regibus]  "  Trove 
chanted,  pausing  to  recall  the  lines. 

The  tinker  turned  quickly.  "  '  O  et  presidium 
et  dulce  decus  meum?  "  he  quoted,  never  stop 
ping  until  he  had  finished  the  ode. 

"Is  there  anything  you  do  not  know?" 
Trove  inquired. 

"Much,"  said  the  tinker,  "including  the 
depth  o'  me  own  folly.  A  man  that  displays 
knowledge  hath  need  o'  more." 

Indeed,  Trove  rarely  came  for  a  talk  with 
Barrel  when  he  failed  to  discover  something 
new  in  him  —  a  further  reach  of  thought  and 
sympathy  or  some  unsuspected  treasure  of 
knowledge.  The  tinker  loved  a  laugh  and 
would  often  search  his  memory  for  some 
phrase  of  bard  or  philosopher  apt  enough  to 
provoke  it.  Of  his  great  store  of  knowledge 
he  made  no  vainer  use. 

Trove  had  been  overworking;  and  about 
the  middle  of  June  they  went  for  a  week  in  the 
woods  together.  They  walked  to  Allen's  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  215 

first  day,  and,  after  a  brief  visit  there,  went  off 
in  the  deep  woods,  camping  on  a  pond  in  thick- 
timbered  hills.  Coming  to  the  lilied  shore,  they 
sat  down  a  while  to  rest.  A  hawk  was  sailing 
high  above  the  still  water.  Crows  began  to 
call  in  the  tree-tops.  An  eagle  sat  on  a  dead 
pine  at  the  water's  edge  and  seemed  to  be 
peering  down  at  his  own  shadow.  Two  deer 
stood  in  a  marsh  on  the  farther  shore,  looking 
over  at  them.  Near  by  were  the  bones  of  some 
animal,  and  the  fresh  footprints  of  a  painter. 
Sounds  echoed  far  in  the  hush  of  the  unbroken 
wilderness. 

"  See,  boy,"  said  Barrel,  with  a  little  gesture 
of  his  right  hand,  "  the  theatre  o'  the  woods  ! 
See  the  sloping  hills,  tree  above  tree,  like  wind 
ing  galleries.  Here  is  a  coliseum  old,  past 
reckoning.  Why,  boy,  long  before  men  saw 
the  Seven  Hills  it  was  old.  Yet  see  how  new 
it  is  —  how  fresh  its  colour,  how  strong  its  tim 
bers  !  See  the  many  seats,  each  with  a  good 
view,  an'  the  multitude  o'  the  people,  yet  most 
o'  them  are  hidden.  Ten  thousand  eyes  are 
looking  down  upon  us.  Tragedies  and  come 
dies  o'  the  forest  are  enacted  here.  Many  a 


216  DARREL 

thrilling  scene  has  held  the  stage  —  the  spent 
deer  swimming  for  his  life,  the  painter  stalking 
his  prey  or  leaping  on  it." 

"Tis  a  cruel  part,"  said  Trove.  "  He  is  the 
murderer  of  the  play.  I  cannot  understand 
why  there  are  so  many  villains  in  its  cast. 
Both  the  cat  and  the  serpent  baffle  me." 

"  Marry,  boy,  the  world  is  a  great  school  — 
an'  this  little  drama  o'  the  good  God  is  part 
of  it,"  said  Barrel.  "  An'  the  play  hath  a  great 
moral  — thou  shalt  learn  to  use  thy  brain  or  die. 
Now,  there  be  many  perils  in  this  land  o'  the 
woods  —  so  many  that  all  its  people  must  learn 
to  think  or  perish  by  them.  A  pretty  bit  o' 
wisdom  it  is,  sor.  It  keeps  the  great  van 
moving  —  ever  moving,  in  the  long  way  to 
perfection.  Now,  among  animals,  a  growing 
brain  works  the  legs  of  its  owner,  sending  them 
far  on  diverse  errands  until  they  are  strong. 
Mind  thee,  boy,  perfection  o'  brain  and  body  is 
the  aim  o'  Nature.  The  cat's  paw  an'  the  ser 
pent's  coil  are  but  the  penalties  o'  weakness  an' 
folly.  The  world  is  for  the  strong.  Therefore, 
God  keep  thee  so,  or  there  be  serpents  will  enter 
thy  blood  an'  devour  thee —  millions  o'  them." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  217 

"  And  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  law  ?" 
"  That  the  weak  shall  not  live  to  perpetuate 
their  kind,"  said  Barrel.  "  Every  year  there  is  a 
tournament  o'  the  sparrows.  Which  deserves  the 
fair  —  that  is  the  question  to  be  settled.  Full 
tilt  they  come  together,  striking  with  lance  and 
wing.  Knight  strives  with  knight,  lady  with 
lady,  and  the  weak  die.  Lest  thou  forget,  I'll 
tell  thee  a  tale,  boy,  wherein  is  the  great  plan. 
The  queen  bee  —  strongest  of  all  her  people  — 
is  about  to  marry.1  A  clear  morning  she  comes 
out  o'  the  palace  gate  —  her  attendants  follow 
ing.  The  multitude  of  her  suitors  throng  the 
vestibule ;  the  air,  now  still  an'  sweet,  rings 
with  the  sound  o'  fairy  timbrels.  Of  a  sudden 
she  rises  into  the  blue  sky,  an'  her  suitors  follow. 
Her  swift  wings  cleave  the  air  straight  as  a 
plummet  falls.  Only  the  strong  may  keep  in 
sight  o'  her ;  bear  that  in  mind,  boy.  Her 
suitors  begin  to  fall  wearied.  Higher  an'  still 
higher  the  good  queen  wings  her  way.  By  an' 
by,  of  all  that  began  the  journey,  there  is  but 

1  In  behalf  of  Barrel,  the  author  makes  acknowledgment  of 
his  indebtedness  to  M.  Maurice  Maeterlinck  for  an  account  of 
the  queen's  flight  in  his  interesting  "  Life  of  the  Bee." 


218  BARREL 

one  left  with  her,  an'  he  the  strongest  of  her 
people.  An'  they  are  wed,  boy,  up  in  the  sun 
lit  deep  o'  heaven.  So  the  seed  o'  life  is  chosen, 
me  fine  lad." 

They  sat  a  little  time  in  silence,  looking  at 
the  shores  of  the  pond. 

"  Have  ye  never  felt  the  love  passion  ? "  said 
Barrel. 

"Well,  there's  a  girl  of  the  name  of  Polly," 
Trove  answered. 

"  Ah,  Polly !  she  o'  the  red  lip  an'  the  dark 
eye,"  said  Barrel,  smiling.  "  She's  one  of  a 
thousand."  He  clapped  his  hand  upon  his 
knee,  merrily,  and  sang  a  sentimental  couplet 
from  an  old  Irish  ballad. 

"  Have  ye  won  her  affection,  boy  ? "  he  added, 
his  hand  on  the  boy's  arm. 

"  I  think  I  have." 

"God  love  thee!  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  She  is  a  living  wonder,  boy,  a 
living  wonder,  an'  had  I  thy  youth  I'd  give  thee 
worry." 

"  Since  her  mother  cannot  afford  to  do  it, 
I  wish  to  send  her  away  to  school,"  said 
Trove. 


\ 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  219 

"  Tut,  tut,  boy ;  thou  hast  barely  enough  for 
thy  own  schooling." 

"  I've  eighty-two  dollars  in  my  pocket,"  said 
Trove,  proudly.  "  I  do  not  need  it.  The  job 
in  the  mill  —  that  will  feed  me  and  pay  my 
room  rent,  and  my  clothes  will  do  me  for  another 
year." 

"  On  me  word,  boy ;  I  like  it  in  thee,"  said 
Barrel;  "but  surely  she  would  not  take  thy 
money." 

"  I  could  not  offer  it  to  her,  but  you  might  go 
there,  and  perhaps  she  would  take  it  from  you." 

"  Capital !  "  the  tinker  exclaimed.  "  I'll  see 
if  I  can  serve  thee.  Marry,  good  youth,  I'll 
even  give  away  thy  money  an'  take  credit  for 
thy  benevolence.  Teacher,  philanthropist,  lover 
—  I  believe  thou'rt  ready  to  write." 

"  The  plan  of  my  first  novel  is  complete," 
said  Trove.  "  That  poor  thief,  —  he  shall  be 
my  chief  character,  —  the  man  of  whom  you 
told  me." 

"  Poor  man !  God  make  thee  kind  to  him," 
said  the  tinker.  "  An'  thou'rt  willing,  I'll  hear 
o'  him  to-night.  When  the  firelight  flickers,  — 
that  is  the  time,  boy,  for  tales." 


220  DARREL 

They  built  a  rude  lean-to,  covered  with  bark, 
and  bedded  with  fragrant  boughs.  Both  lay  in 
the  firelight,  Barrel  smoking  his  pipe,  as  the 
night  fell. 

"  Now  for  thy  tale,"  said  the  tinker. 

The  tale  was  Trove's  own  solution  of  his  life 
mystery,  shrewdly  come  to,  after  a  long  and 
careful  survey  of  the  known  facts.  And  now, 
shortly,  time  was  to  put  the  seal  of  truth  upon 
it,  and  daze  him  with  astonishment,  and  fill  him 
with  regret  of  his  cunning.  It  should  be  known 
that  he  had  never  told  Barrel  or  any  one  of  his 
coming  in  the  little  red  sleigh. 

He  lay  thinking  for  a  time  after  the  tinker 
spoke.  Then  he  began  :  — 

"Well,  the  time  is  1835,  tne  place  a 
New  England  city  on  the  sea.  Chapter 
I :  A  young  woman  is  walking  along  a 
street,  with  a  child  sleeping  in  her  arms. 
She  is  dark-skinned,  —  a  Syrian.  It  is 
growing  dusk ;  the  street  is  deserted,  save 
by  her  and  two  sailors,  who  are  approach 
ing  her.  They,  too,  are  Syrians.  One 
seems  to  strike  her,  —  it  is  mere  pretence, 
however,  —  and  she  falls.  The  other  seizes 
the  child,  who,  having  been  drugged,  is 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  221 

still  asleep.  A  wagon  is  waiting  near. 
They  drive  away  hurriedly,  their  captive 
under  a  blanket.  The  kidnappers  make 
for  the  woods  in  New  Hampshire.  Offi 
cers  of  the  law  drive  them  far.  They  aban 
don  their  horse,  tramping  westward  over 
trails  in  the  wilderness,  bearing  the  boy  in 
a  sack  of  sail-cloth,  open  at  the  top.  They 
had  guns  and  killed  their  food  as  they 
travelled.  Snow  came  deep  ;  by  and  by 
game  was  scarce  and  they  had  grown  weary 
of  bearing  the  boy  on  their  backs.  One 
waited  in  the  woods  with  the  little  lad 
while  the  other  went  away  to  some  town  or 
city  for  provisions.  He  came  back,  hauling 
them  in  a  little  sleigh.  It  was  much  like 
those  made  for  the  delight  of  the  small  boy 
in  every  land  of  snow.  It  had  a  box 
painted  red  and  two  bobs  and  a  little  dash 
board.  They  used  it  for  the  transportation 
of  boy  and  impedimenta.  In  the  deep 
wilderness  beyond  the  Adirondacks  they 
found  a  cave  in  one  of  the  rock  ledges. 
They  were  twenty  miles  from  any  post-office 
but  shortly  discovered  one.  Letters  in 
cipher  were  soon  passing  between  them 
and  their  confederates.  They  learned  there 
was  no  prospect  of  getting  the  ransom. 
He  they  had  thought  rich  was  not  able 


222  DARREL 

to  raise  the  money  they  required  or  any 
large  sum.  Two  years  went  by,  and  they 
abandoned  hope.  What  should  they  do 
with  the  boy  ?  One  advised  murder,  but 
the  other  defended  him.  It  was  unneces 
sary,  he  maintained,  to  kill  a  mere  baby, 
who  knew  not  a  word  of  English,  and 
would  forget  all  in  a  month.  And  murder 
would  only  increase  their  peril.  Now  eight 
miles  from  their  cave  was  the  cabin  of  a 
settler.  They  passed  within  a  mile  of  it  on 
their  way  out  and  in.  They  had  often  met 
the  dog  of  the  settler  roving  after  small 
game  —  a  shepherd,  trustful,  affectionate, 
and  ever  ready  to  make  friends.  One  day 
they  captured  the  dog  and  took  him  to 
their  cave.  They  could  not  safely  be  seen 
with  the  boy,  so  they  planned  to  let  the 
dog  go  home  with  him  in  the  little  red 
sleigh.  Now  the  settler's  cabin  was  like 
that  of  my  father,  on  the  shore  of  a  pond. 
It  was  round,  as  a  cup's  rim,  and  a  mile  or 
so  in  diameter.  Opposite  the  cabin  a  trail 
came  to  the  water's  edge,  skirting  the  pond, 
save  in  cold  weather,  when  it  crossed  the 
ice.  They  waited  for  a  night  when  their 
tracks  would  soon  disappear.  Then,  having 
made  a  cover  of  the  sail-cloth  sack  in  which 
they  had  brought  the  boy,  and  stretched  it 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  223 

on  withes,  and  made  it  fast  to  the  sleigh 
box,  they  put  the  sleeping  boy  in  the  sleigh, 
with  hot  stones  wrapped  in  paper,  and  a 
robe  of  fur,  to  keep  him  warm,  hitched  the 
dog  to  it,  and  came  over  hill  and  trail,  to 
the  little  pond,  a  while  after  midnight. 
Here  they  buckled  a  ring  of  bells  on  the 
dog's  neck  and  released  him.  He  made 
for  his  home  on  the  clear  ice  ;  the  bells  and 
his  bark  sounding  as  he  ran.  They  at  the 
cabin  heard  him  coming  and  opened  their 
door  to  dog  and  traveller.  So  came  my 
hero  in  a  little  red  sleigh,  and  was  adopted 
by  the  settler  and  his  wife,  and  reared  by 
them  with  generous  affection.  Well,  he 
goes  to  school  and  learns  rapidly,  and 
comes  to  manhood.  It's  a  pretty  story  — 
that  of  his  life  in  the  big  woods.  But  now 
for  the  love  tale.  He  meets  a  young  lady 
—  sweet,  tender,  graceful,  charming." 

"  A  moment,"  said  Barrel,  raising  his  hand. 
"  Prithee,  boy,  ring  down  the  curtain  for  a  brief 
parley.  Thou  say'st  they  were  Syrians  —  they 
that  stole  the  lad.  Now,  tell  me,  hast  thou 
reason  for  that  ? " 

"Ample,"  said  Trove.  "When  they  took  him 
out  of  the  sleigh  the  first  words  he  spoke  were 


224  DARREL 

"Anah  jouhan."  He  used  them  many  times, 
and  while  he  forgot  they  remembered  them. 
Now  "Anah  jouhan"  is  a  phrase  of  the  Syrian 
tongue,  meaning  *  I  am  hungry.'  " 

"  Very  well ! "  said  the  old  man,  with  em 
phasis,  "and  sailors  —  that  is  a  just  inference. 
It  was  a  big  port,  and  far  people  came  on  the 
four  winds.  Very  well !  Now,  for  the  young 
lady.  An'  away  with  thy  book  unless  I  love 
her." 

"She  is  from  life  —  a  simple-hearted  girl, 
frank  and  beautiful  and  —  "  Trove  hesitated, 
looking  into  the  dying  fire. 

"  Noble,  boy,  make  sure  o'  that,  an*  nobler, 
too,  than  girls  are  apt  to  be.  Jf  Emulation 
would  measure  height  with  her,  see  that  it 
stand  upon  tiptoes." 

"  So  I  have  planned.  The  young  man 
loves  her.  She  is  in  every  thought  and 
purpose.  She  has  become  as  the  rock  on 
which  his  hope  is  founded.  Now  he  loves 
honour,  too,  and  all  things  of  good  report. 
He  has  been  reared  a  Puritan.  By  chance, 
one  day,  it  comes  to  him  that  his  father 
was  a  thief." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  225 

The  boy  paused.  For  a  moment  they  heard 
only  the  voices  of  the  night. 

"He  dreaded  to  tell  her,"  Trove  con 
tinued;  "yet  he  could  not  ask  her  to  be 
his  wife  without  telling.  Then  the  question, 
Had  he  a  right  to  tell?  —  for  his  father  had 
not  suffered  the  penalty  of  the  law  and, 
mind  you,  men  thought  him  honest." 

"Tis  just,"  said  Barrel;  "but  tell  me,  how 
came  he  to  know  his  father  was  a  thief  ? " 

"  That  I  am  thinking  of,  and  before  I  answer, 
is  there  more  you  can  tell  me  of  him  or  his 
people?" 

Barrel  rose ;  and  lighting  a  torch  of  pine, 
stuck  it  in  the  ground.  Then  he  opened  his 
leathern  pocket-book  and  took  out  a  number 
of  cuttings,  much  worn,  and  apparently  from 
old  newspapers.  He  put  on  his  glasses  and 
began  to  examine  the  cuttings. 

"  The  other  day,"  said  he,  "  I  found  an  account 
of  his  mother's  death.  I  had  forgotten,  but  her 
death  was  an  odd  tragedy." 

And  the  tinker  began  reading,  slowly,  as 
follows :  — 


226  BARREL 

"  '  She  an'  her  mother  —  a  lady  deaf  an' 
feeble  —  were  alone,  saving  the  servants  in 
a  remote  corner  o'  the  house.  A  sound 
woke  her  in  the  still  night.  She  lay  a  while 
listening.  Was  it  her  husband  returning 
without  his  key  ?  She  rose,  feeling  her  way 
in  the  dark  and  trembling  with  the  fear  of 
a  nervous  woman.  Descending  stairs,  she 
came  into  a  room  o'  many  windows.  The 
shades  were  up,  an'  there  was  dim  moon 
light  in  the  room.  A  door,  with  panels  o' 
thick  glass,  led  to  the  garden  walk.  Beyond 
it  were  the  dark  forms  of  men.  One  was 
peering  in,  his  face  at  a  panel,  another 
kneeling  at  the  lock.  Suddenly  the  door 
opened ;  the  lady  fell  fainting  with  a  loud 
cry.  Next  day  the  kidnapped  boy  was 
born.' " 

Barrel  stopped  reading,  put  the  clipping  into 
his  pocket-book,  and  smothered  the  torch. 

"  It  seems  the  woman  died  the  same  day," 
said  he. 

"  And  was  my  mother,"  the  words  came  in  a 
broken  voice. 

Half  a  moment  of  silence  followed  them. 
Then  Barrel  rose  slowly,  and  a  tremulous,  deep 
sigh  came  from  the  lips  of  Trove. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  227 

"  Thy  mother,  boy !  "  Barrel  whispered. 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  and  the  great  shadow 
of  the  night  lay  dark  upon  them.  Trove  got 
to  his  feet  and  came  to  the  side  of  Barrel. 

"  Tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  man,  tell  me  where 
is  my  father,"  said  he. 

"  Hush,  boy  !  Listen.  Hear  the  wind  in  the 
trees  ? "  said  Barrel. 

There  was  a  breath  of  silence  broken  by  the 
hoot  of  an  owl  and  the  stir  of  high  branches. 
"  Ye  might  as  well  ask  o'  the  wind  or  the  wild 
owl,"  Barrel  said.  "  I  cannot  tell  thee.  Be  calm, 
boy,  and  say  how  thou  hast  come  to  know." 

Again  they  sat  down  together,  and  presently 
Trove  told  him  of  those  silent  men  who  had 
ever  haunted  the  dark  and  ghostly  house  of 
his  inheritance. 

"  'Tis  thy  mother's  terror,  —  an*  thy  father's 
house, —  I  make  no  doubt,"  said  Barrel,  pres 
ently,  in  a  deep  voice.  "  But,  boy,  I  cannot  tell 
any  man  where  is  thy  father;  not  even  thee,  nor 
his  name,  nor  the  least  thing,  tending  to  point 
him  out,  until  —  until  I  am  released  o'  me  vow. 
Be  content ;  if  I  can  find  the  man,  ere  long, 
thou  shalt  have  word  o'  him." 


228  BARREL 

Trove  leaned  against  the  breast  of  Barrel, 
shaking  with  emotion.  His  tale  had  come  to 
an  odd  and  fateful  climax. 

The  old  man  stroked  his  head  tenderly. 

"  Ah,  boy,"  said  he,  "  I  know  thy  heart.  I 
shall  make  haste  —  I  promise  thee,  I  shall  make 
haste.  But,  if  the  good  God  should  bring  thy 
father  to  thee,  an'  thy  head  to  shame  an'  sor 
row  for  his  sin,  forgive  him,  in  the  name  o' 
Christ,  forgive  him.  Ay,  boy,  thou  must 
forgive  all  that  trespass  against  thee." 

"  If  I  ever  see  him,  he  shall  know  I  am  not 
ungrateful,"  said  the  young  man. 

A  while  past  twelve  o'clock,  those  two,  lying 
there  in  the  firelight,  thinking,  rose  like  those 
startled  in  sleep.  A  mighty  voice  came  booming 
over  the  still  water  and  echoed  far  and  wide. 
Slowly  its  words  fell  and  rang  in  the  great, 
silent  temple  of  the  woods  :  — 

" '  Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of 
men  and  of  angels,  and  have  not  charity,  I 
am  become  as  sounding  brass,  or  a  tinkling 
cymbal. 

"  '  And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  proph 
ecy,  and  understand  all  mysteries,  and  all 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  229 

knowledge ;  and  though  I  have  all  faith, 
so  that  I  could  remove  mountains,  and 
have  not  charity,  I  am  nothing. 

" '  And  though  I  bestow  all  my  goods 
to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I  give  my 
body  to  be  burned,  and  have  not  charity,  it 
profiteth  me  nothing. 

" '  Charity  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind ; 
charity  envieth  not ;  charity  vaunteth  not 
itself ;  is  not  puffed  up, 

"  '  Doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly,  seek- 
eth  not  her  own,  is  not  easily  provoked, 
thinketh  no  evil ; 

"  '  Beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things, 
hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things. 

"  '  Charity  never  f  aileth :  but  whether 
there  be  prophecies,  they  shall  fail; 
whether  there  be  tongues,  they  shall 
cease;  whether  there  be  knowledge,  it 
shall  vanish  away.' " 

As  the  last  words  died  away  in  the  far  wood 
land,  Trove  and  Barrel  turned,  wiping  their 
eyes  in  silence.  That  flood  of  inspiration  had 
filled  them.  Big  thoughts  had  come  drifting 
down  with  its  current.  They  listened  a  while, 
but  heard  only  the  faint  crackle  of  the  fire. 

"  Strange !  "  said  Trove,  presently. 


230  DARREL 

"  Passing  strange,  and  like  a  beautiful  song,"  ' 
said  Barrel. 

"  It  may  be  some  insane  fanatic." 

"  Maybe,  but  he  hath  the  voice  of  an  angel," 
said  the  old  man. 

They  passed  a  sleepless  night  and  were  up 
early,  packing  to  leave  the  woods.  Barrel  was 
to  go  in  quest  of  the  boy's  father.  Within  a 
week  he  felt  sure  he  should  be  able  to  find  him. 

They  skirted  the  pond,  crossing  a  long  ridge 
on  its  farther  shore.  At  a  spring  of  cool  water 
in  a  deep  ravine  they  halted  to  drink  and  rest. 
Suddenly  they  heard  a  sound  of  men  approach 
ing;  and  when  the  latter  had  come  near,  a 
voice,  deep,  vibrant,  and  musical  as  a  harp- 
string,  in  these  lines  of  Hamlet:  — 

"  ( Why  right  ;  you  are  i'  the  right ; 

And  so  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 

I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part ; 

You  as  your  business  and  desire  shall  point  you  ; 

For  every  man  has  business  and  desire 

Such  as  it  is  ;  and  for  mine  own  part 

Look  you,  Til  go  pray.' " 

Then  said  Barrel,  loudly  :  — 

"  <  These  are  but  wild  and  whirling  words,  my  lord.' " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  231 

Two  men,  a  guide  in  advance,  came  along  the 
trail  —  one,  a  most  impressive  figure,  tall,  erect, 
and  strong;  its  every  move  expressing  grace 
and  power. 

Again  the  deep  music  of  his  voice,  saying :  — 

" '  I'm  sorry  they  offend  you  heartily ;  yes,  faith,  heartily.1 " 

And  Barrel  rejoined,  his  own  rich  tone  touch 
ing  the  note  of  melancholy  in  the  other :  — 
" ;  There's  no  offence,  my  lord.' " 

"  What  Horatio  is  this  ? "  the  stranger  in 
quired,  offering  his  hand.  "  A  player  ?  " 

"Ay,  as  are  all  men  an'  women,"  said  Dar- 
rel,  quickly.  "  But  I,  sor,  have  only  a  poor 
part.  Had  I  thy  lines  an'  makeup,  I'd  win 
applause." 

The  newcomers  sat  down,  the  man  who  had 
spoken  removing  his  hat.  Curly  locks  of  dark 
hair,  with  now  a  sprinkle  of  silver  in  them, 
fell  upon  his  brows.  He  had  large  brown  eyes, 
a  mouth  firm  and  well  modelled,  a  nose  slightly 
aquiline,  and  wore  a  small,  dark  imperial  —  a 
mere  tuft  under  his  lip. 

"  Well,  Colonel,  you  have  paid  me  a  graceful 
compliment,"  said  he. 


232  DARREL 

"  Nay,  man,  do  not  mistake  me  rank,"  said 
Barrel. 

"  Indeed— what  is  it?" 

"  Friend,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "  In  good 
company  there's  no  higher  rank.  But  if 
ye  think  me  unworthy,  I'll  be  content  with 
'Mister.'" 

"  My  friend,  forgive  me,"  said  the  stranger, 
approaching  Barrel.  "  Murder  and  envy  and 
revenge  and  all  evil  are  in  my  part,  but  no 
impertinence." 

"  I  know  thy  rank,  sor.  Thou  art  a  gentle 
man,"  said  Barrel.  "I've  seen  thee  'every 
inch  a  king/  " 

Barrel  spoke  to  the  second  period  in  that 
passage  of  Lear,  the  majesty  and  despair  of 
the  old  king  in  voice  and  gesture.  The  words 
were  afire  with  feeling  as  they  came  off  his 
tongue,  and  all  looked  at  him  with  surprise. 

"Ah,  you  have  seen  me  play  it,"  said  the 
stranger.  "  There's  no  other  Lear  that  declares 
himself  with  that  gesture." 

"  It  is  Edwin  Forrest,"  said  Barrel,  as  the 
stranger  offered  his  hand. 

"The  same,  and  at  your  service,"  the  great 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES 


"•  J 

actor  replied.  "  And  may  I  ask  who  are 
you  ? " 

"  Roderick  Barrel,  son  of  a  wheelwright  on 
the  river  Bann,  once  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest, 
believe  me,  but  now,  alas !  like  the  skull  o' 
Yorick  in  the  churchyard." 

"  The  churchyard  !  "  said  Forrest,  thought 
fully.  "That  to  me  is  the  saddest  of  all 
scenes.  When  it's  over  and  I  leave  the  stage, 
it  is  to  carry  with  me  an  awe-inspiring  thought 
of  the  end  which  is  coming  to  all." 

He  crumbled  a  lump  of  clay  in  his  palm. 

"  Dust !  "  he  whispered,  scattering  it  in  the  air. 

"  Think  ye  the  dust  is  dead  ?  Nay,  man ; 
a  mighty  power  is  in  it,"  said  Barrel.  "  Let  us 
imagine  thee  dead  an'  turned  to  clay.  Leave 
the  clay  to  its  own  law,  sor,  an'  it  begins  to 
cleanse  an'  purge  itself.  Its  aim  is  purity,  an' 
it  never  wearies.  Could  I  live  long  enough,  an' 
it  were  under  me  eye,  I'd  see  the  clay  bleach 
ing  white  with  a  wonderful  purity.  Then, 
slowly,  it  would  begin  to  come  clear,  an'  by 
an'  by  it  would  be  clearer  an'  lovelier  than  a 
drop  o'  dew  at  sunrise.  Lo  and  behold !  the 
clay  has  become  a  sapphire.  So,  sor,  in  the 


234  DARREL 

waters  o'  time  God  washes  the  great  world. 
In  every  grain  o'  dust  the  law  is  written,  an'  I 
may  read  the  destiny  o'  the  nobler  part  in  the 
fate  o'  the  meaner. 

" '  Imperious  Forrest,  dead  an'  turned  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  despair  away.'" 

"  Delightful  and  happy  man  !  I  must  know 
you  better,"  said  the  great  tragedian.  "  May 
I  ask,  sir,  what  is  your  calling  ? " 

"  I,  sor,  am  a  tinker  o'  clocks." 

"  A  tinker  of  clocks  !  "  said  the  other,  looking 
at  him  thoughtfully.  "  I  should  think  it  poorly 
suited  to  your  talents." 

"  Not  so.  I've  only  a  talent  for  happiness 
an'  good  company." 

"  And  you  find  good  company  here  ? " 

"Yes;  bards,  prophets,  an*  honest  men. 
They're  everywhere." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Forrest,  "  were  you  not  some 
time  a  player  ?  " 

"  Player  of  many  parts,  but  all  in  God's  drama 
—  fool,  servant  of  a  rich  man,  cobbler,  clock 
tinker,  all  in  the  coat  of  a  poor  man.  Me  health 
failed  me,  sor,  an'  I  took  to  wandering  in  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  235 

open  air.  Ten  years  ago  in  the  city  of  New 
York  me  wife  died,  since  when  I  have  been 
tinkering  here  in  the  edges  o'  the  woodland, 
where  I  have  found  health  an'  friendship  an' 
good  cheer.  Faith,  sor,  that  is  all  one  needs, 
save  the  company  o'  the  poets. 

" i  I  pray  an'  sing  an'  tell  old  tales  an'  laugh 
At  gilded  butterflies,  an'  hear  poor  rogues 
Talk  o*  court  news.' " 

Trove  had  missed  not  a  word  nor  even  a  turn 
of  the  eye  in  all  that  scene.  After  years  of 
acquaintance  with  the  tinker  he  had  not  yet 
ventured  a  question  as  to  his  life  history.  The 
difference  of  age  and  a  certain  masterly  reserve 
in  the  old  gentleman  had  seemed  to  discourage 
it.  A  prying  tongue  in  a  mere  youth  would 
have  met  unpleasant  obstacles  with  Barrel. 
Never  until  that  day  had  he  spoken  freely  of 
his  past  in  the  presence  of  the  young  man. 

"  I  must  see  you  again,"  said  the  tragedian, 
rising.  "  Of  those  parts  I  try  to  play,  which  do 
you  most  like  ?  " 

"St.  Paul,"  said  Barrel,  quickly.  "Last 
night,  sor,  in  this  great  theatre  we  heard  the 


236  DARREL 

voice  o'  the  prophet.  Ah,  sor,  it  was  like  a 
trumpet  on  the  walls  of  eternity.  I  commend 
to  thee  the  part  o'  St.  Paul.  Next  to  that  —  of 
all  thy  parts,  Lear." 

"  Lear?"  said  Forrest,  rising.  "  I  am  to  play 
it  this  autumn.  Come,  then,  to  New  York. 
Give  me  your  address,  and  I'll  send  for  you." 

"  Sor,"  said  Barrel,  thoughtfully,  "  I  can  give 
thee  much  o'  me  love  but  little  o'  me  time. 
Nay,  there'd  be  trouble  among  the  clocks.  I'd 
be  ashamed  to  look  them  in  the  face.  Nay,  — 
I  thank  thee,  —  but  I  must  mind  the  clocks." 

The  great  player  smiled  with  amusement. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  have  to  come  and 
see  you  play  your  part.  Till  then,  sir,  God 
give  you  happiness." 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  said  Barrel,  as  he  held 
the  hand  of  the  player,  "a  weary  traveller 
came  to  the  gate  o'  Heaven,  seeking  entrance. 

'"What  hast  thou  in  thy  heart?'  said  the 
good  St.  Peter. 

"'The  record  o'  great  suffering  an'  many 
prayers/  said  the  poor  man.  'I  pray  thee 
now,  give  me  the  happiness  o'  Heaven.' 

" '  Good  man,  we  have  none  to  spare,'  said 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  237 

the  keeper.  '  Heaven  hath  no  happiness  but 
that  men  bring.  It  is  a  gift  to  God  and  comes 
not  from  Him.  Would  ye  take  o'  that  we  have 
an'  bring  nothing?  Nay,  go  back  to  thy  toil 
an'  fill  thy  heart  with  happiness,  an'  bring  it  to 
me  overflowing.  Then  shalt  thou  know  the 
joy  o'  paradise.  Remember,  God  giveth  coun 
sel,  but  not  happiness.' " 

"If  I  only  had  your  wisdom,"  said  Forrest, 
as  they  parted. 

"Ye'd  have  need  o'  more,"  the  tinker  an 
swered. 

Trove  and  Barrel  walked  to  the  clearing 
above  Faraway.  At  a  corner  on  the  high 
hills,  where  northward  they  could  see  smoke 
and  spire  of  distant  villages,  each  took  his 
way,  —  one  leading  to  Hillsborough,  the  other 
to  Allen's. 

"  Good-by ;  an'  when  I  return  I  hope  to  hear 
the  rest  o'  thy  tale,"  said  Barrel,  as  they  parted. 

"  Only  God  is  wise  enough  to  finish  it,"  said 
the  young  man. 

'"Well,  God  help  us;  'tis  a  world  to  see,'" 
Barrel  quoted,  waving  his  hand.  "  If  thy  heart 
oppress  thee,  steer  for  the  Blessed  Isles." 


XXI 


Robin  s  Inn 


BIG  maple  sheltered  the  house 
of  the  widow  Vaughn.  After 
the  noon  hour  of  a  summer  day 
its  tide  of  shadow  began  flowing 
fathoms  deep  over  house  and 


garden  to  the  near  field,  where  finally  it  joined 
the  great  flood  of  night.  The  maple  was  in 
deed  a  robin's  inn  at  some  crossing  of  the  invisi 
ble  roads  of  the  air.  Its  green  dome  towered 
high  above  and  fell  to  the  gable  end  of  the  little 
house.  Its  deep  and  leafy  thatch  hid  every 
timber  of  its  frame  save  the  rough  column.  Its 
trunk  was  the  main  beam,  each  limb  a  corridor, 
each  tier  of  limbs  a  floor,  and  branch  rose  above 
branch  like  steps  in  a  stairway.  Up  and  down 
the  high  dome  of  the  maple  were  a  thousand 
balconies  overlooking  the  meadow. 
238 


DARREL  239 

From  its  highest  tier  of  a  summer  morning 
the  notes  of  the  bobolink  came  rushing  off  his 
lyre,  and  farther  down  the  golden  robin  sounded 
his  piccolo.  But,  chiefly,  it  was  the  home  and 
refuge  of  the  familiar  red-breasted  robin.  The 
inn  had  its  ancient  customs.  Each  young  bird, 
leaving  his  cradle,  climbed  his  own  stairway  till 
he  came  out  upon  a  balcony  and  got  a  first  timid 
look  at  field  and  sky.  There  he  might  try  his 
wings  and  keep  in  the  world  he  knew  by  using 
bill  and  claw  on  the  lower  tiers. 

At  dawn  the  great  hall  of  the  maple  rang  with 
music,  for  every  lodger  paid  his  score  with  song. 
Therein  it  was  ever  cool,  and  clean,  and  shady, 
though  the  sun  were  hot.  Its  every  nook  and 
cranny  was  often  swept  and  dusted  by  the 
wind.  Its  branches  leading  up  and  outward  to 
the  green  wall  were  as  innumerable  stairways. 
Each  separate  home  was  out  on  rocking  beams, 
with  its  own  flicker  of  sky  light  overhead.  For 
a  time  at  dusk  there  was  a  continual  flutter  of 
weary  wings  at  the  lower  entrance,  a  good  night 
twitter,  and  a  sound  of  tiny  feet  climbing  the 
stairways  in  that  gloomy  hall.  At  last,  there 
was  a  moment  of  gossip  and  then  silence  on 


240  DARREL 

every  floor.  There  seemed  to  be  a  night-watch 
in  the  lower  hall,  and  if  any  green  young  bird 
were  late  and  noisy  going  up  to  his  home,  he 
got  a  shaking  and  probably  lost  a  few  feathers 
from  the  nape  of  his  neck.  Long  before  day 
break  those  hungry,  half-clad  little  people  of 
the  nests  began  to  worry  and  crowd  their  moth 
ers.  At  first,  the  old  birds  tried  to  quiet  them 
with  caressing  movements,  and  had,  at  last,  to 
hold  their  places  with  bill  and  claw.  As  light 
came  an  old  cock  peered  about  him,  stretched 
his  wings,  climbed  a  stairway,  and  blew  his 
trumpet  on  the  outer  wall.  The  robin's  day 
had  begun. 

Mid-autumn,  when  its  people  shivered  and 
found  fault  and  talked  of  moving,  the  maple 
tried  to  please  them  with  new  and  brighter  col 
ours  —  gold,  with  the  warmth  of  summer  in  its 
look;  scarlet,  suggesting  love  and  the  June  roses. 
Soon  it  stood  bare  and  deserted.  Then  what 
was  there  in  the  creak-and-whisper  chorus  of 
the  old  tree  for  one  listening  in  the  night  ? 
Belike  it  might  be  many  things,  according  to 
the  ear,  but  was  it  not  often  something  to  make 
one  think  of  that  solemn  message :  "  Man  that 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  241 

is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few  days  and  full  of 
trouble  "  ?  They  who  lived  in  that  small  house 
under  the  tree  knew  little  of  all  that  passed  in 
the  big  world.  Trumpet  blasts  of  fame,  thunder 
of  rise  and  downfall,  came  faintly  to  them. 
There  the  delights  of  art  and  luxury  were  un 
known.  Yet  those  simple  folk  were  acquainted 
with  pleasure  and  even  with  thrilling  and  im 
pressive  incidents.  Field  and  garden  teemed 
with  eventful  life  and  hard  by  was  the  great 
city  of  the  woods. 


XXII 

Comedies  of  Field  and  Dooryard 


ROVE  was  three  days  in  Brier 
Dale  after  he  came  out  of  the 
woods.  The  filly  was  now  a 
sleek  and  shapely  animal,  past 
three  years  of  age.  He  began 
at  once  breaking  her  to  the  saddle,  and,  that 
done,  mounting,  he  started  for  Robin's  Inn. 
He  carried  a  game  rooster  in  a  sack  for  the  boy 
Tom.  All  came  out  with  a  word  of  welcome ; 
even  the  small  dog  grew  noisy  with  delight 
Tunk  Hosely,  who  had  come  to  work  for  Mrs. 
Vaughn,  took  the  mare  and  led  her  away,  his 
shoulder  leaning  with  an  added  sense  of  horse 
manship.  Polly  began  to  hurry  dinner,  fussing 
with  the  table,  and  changing  the  position  of 
every  dish,  until  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  never 
be  quite  satisfied.  Covered  with  the  sacred  old 
china  and  table-linen  of  her  grandmother,  it  had, 
242 


DARREL  243 

when  Polly  was  done  with  it,  a  very  smart 
appearance  indeed.  Then  she  called  the  boys 
and  bade  them  wash  their  hands  and  faces  and 
whispered  a  warning  to  each,  while  her  mother 
announced  that  dinner  was  ready. 

"  Paul,  what's  an  adjective  ?  "  said  the  teacher, 
as  they  sat  down. 

"  A  word  applied  to  a  noun  to  qualify  or 
limit  its  meaning,"  the  boy  answered  glibly. 

" Right!  And  what  adjective  would  you 
apply  to  this  table  ? " 

The  boy  thought  a  moment. 

"  Grand !  "  said  he,  tentatively. 

"Correct!  I'm  going  to  have  just  such  a 
dinner  every  day  on  my  farm." 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  have  Polly  too,"  said 
Tom,  innocently. 

"Well,  you  can  spare  her." 

"  No,  sir,"  the  boy  answered.  "  You  ain't 
good  to  her ;  she  cries  every  time  you  go  away." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence  and  the  widow 
began  to  laugh  and  Polly  and  Trove  to  blush 
deeply. 

"  Maybe  she  whispered,  an'  he  give  her  a 
talkin'  to,"  said  Paul. 


244  DARREL 

"  Have  you  heard  about  Ezra  Tower  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Vaughn,  shaking  her  head  at  the  boys  and 
changing  the  topic  with  shrewd  diplomacy. 

"  Much ;  but  nothing  new,"  said  Trove. 

"  Well,  he  swears  he'll  never  cross  the  Fadden 
bridge  or  speak  to  anybody  in  Pleasant  Valley." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  The  taxes.  He  don't  believe  in  improve 
ments,  and  when  he  tried  to  make  a  speech  in 
town-meeting  they  all  jeered  him.  There  ain't 
any  one  good  enough  for  him  to  speak  to  now 
but  himself  an'  —  an'  his  Creator." 

In  the  midst  of  dinner,  they  heard  an  outcry 
in  the  yard.  Tom's  game-cock  had  challenged 
the  old  rooster,  and  the  two  were  leaping  and 
striking  with  foot  and  wing.  Before  help  came 
the  old  rooster  was  badly  cut  in  the  neck  and 
breast.  Tunk  rescued  him,  and  brought  him 
to  the  woodshed,  where  Trove  sewed  up  his 
wounds.  He  had  scarcely  finished  when  there 
came  a  louder  outcry  among  the  fowls.  Look 
ing  out  they  saw  a  gobbler  striding  slowly  up 
the  path  and  leading  the  game-cock  with  a  firm 
hold  on  the  back  of  his  neck.  The  whole  flock 
of  fowls  were  following.  The  rooster  held  back 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  245 

and  came  on  with  long  but  unequal  strides. 
Never  halting,  the  turkey  led  him  into  the  full 
publicity  of  the  open  yard.  Now  the  cock  was 
lifted  so  his  feet  came  only  to  the  top  of  the 
grass ;  now  his  head  was  bent  low,  and  his  feet 
fell  heavily.  Through  it  all  the  gobbler  bore 
himself  with  dignity  and  firmness.  There  was 
no  show  of  wrath  or  unnecessary  violence.  He 
swung  the  cock  around  near  the  foot  of  the 
maple  tree  and  walked  him  back  and  then 
returned  with  him.  Half  his  journey  the  poor 
cock  was  reaching  for  the  grass  and  was  then 
lowered  quickly,  so  he  had  to  walk  with  bent 
knees.  Again  and  again  the  gobbler  walked  up 
and  down  with  him  before  the  assembled  flock. 
Hens  and  geese  cackled  loudly  and  clapped  their 
wings.  Applause  and  derision  rose  high  each 
time  the  poor  cock  swung  around,  reaching  for 
the  grass.  But  the  gobbler  continued  his  even 
stride,  deliberately,  and  as  it  seemed,  thought 
fully,  applying  correction  to  the  quarrelsome 
bird.  Walking  the  grass  tips  had  begun  to  tire 
those  reaching  legs.  The  cock  soon  straddled 
along  with  a  serious  eye  and  an  open  mouth. 
But  the  gobbler  gave  him  no  rest.  When,  at 


246  DARREL 

length,  he  released  his  hold,  the  game-cock  lay 
weary  and  wild-eyed,  with  no  more  fight  in  him 
than  a  bunch  of  rags.  Soon  he  rose  and  ran 
away  and  hid  himself  in  the  stable.  The  culprit 
fowl  was  then  tried,  convicted,  and  sentenced  to 
the  block. 

"It's  the  fate  of  all  fighters  that  have  only  a 
selfish  cause,"  said  the  teacher.  He  was  sitting 
on  the  grass,  Polly,  and  Tom,  and  Paul,  beside 
him. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  suddenly.  "  I'll  show 
you  another  fight." 

All  gathered  about  him.  Down  among  the 
grass  roots  an  ant  stood  facing  a  big,  hairy 
spider.  The  ant  backed  away,  presently,  and 
made  a  little  detour,  the  spider  turning  quickly 
and  edging  toward  him.  The  ant  stood  motion 
less,  the  spider  on  tiptoe,  with  daggers  drawn. 
The  big,  hairy  spider  leaped  like  a  lion  to  its 
prey.  They  could  see  her  striking  with  the 
fatal  knives,  her  great  body  quivering  with 
fierce  energy.  The  little  ant  was  hidden  beneath 
it.  Some  uttered  a  cry  of  pity,  and  Paul  was 
for  taking  sides. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  teacher,  restrain- 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  247 

ing  his  hand.  The  spider  had  begun  to  trem 
ble  in  a  curious  manner. 

"  Look  now,"  said  Trove,  with  some  excite 
ment. 

Her  legs  had  begun  to  let  go  and  were 
straightening  stiff  on  both  sides  of  her.  In 
a  moment  she  tilted  sideways  and  lay  still. 
They  saw  a  twinkle  of  black  legs  and  the 
ant  making  off  in  the  stubble.  They  picked  up 
the  spider's  body;  it  was  now  only  an  empty 
shell.  Her  big  stomach  had  been  torn  away  and 
lay  in  little  strips  and  chunks,  down  at  the  roots 
of  the  stubble. 

"It's  the  end  of  a  bit  of  history,"  said  the 
teacher,  as  he  tore  away  the  curved  blades  of 
the  spider  and  put  them  in  Polly's  palm. 

"Let's  see  where  the  ant  goes." 

He  got  down  upon  his  hands  and  knees  and 
watched  the  little  black  tiger,  now  hurrying 
for  his  lair.  In  a  moment  he  was  joined  by 
others,  and  presently  they  came  into  a  smooth 
little  avenue  under  the  grass.  It  took  them 
into  the  edge  of  the  meadow,  around  a  stalk 
of  mullen,  where  there  were  a  number  of 
webs. 


248  DARREL 

"  There's  where  she  lived  —  this  hairy  old 
woman,"  said  the  teacher,  —  "  up  there  in  that 
tower.  See  her  snares  in  the  grass  —  four  of 
them  ? " 

He  rapped  on  the  stalk  of  mullen  with  a 
stick,  peering  into  the  dusty  little  cavern  of 
silk  near  the  top  of  it. 

"  Sure  enough  !  Here  is  where  she  lived  ; 
for  the  house  is  empty,  and  there's  living  prey 
in  the  snares." 

"  What  a  weird  old  thing ! "  said  Polly. 
"Can  you  tell  us  more  about  her?" 

"Well,  every  summer,"  said  Trove,  "a  great 
city  grows  up  in  the  field.  There  are  shady 
streets  in  it,  no  wider  than  a  cricket's  back, 
and  millions  living  in  nest  and  tower  and 
cave  and  cavern.  Among  its  people  are  toil 
ers  and  idlers,  laws  and  lawbreakers,  thieves 
and  highwaymen,  grand  folk  and  plain  folk. 
Here  is  the  home  of  the  greatest  criminal  in 
the  city  of  the  field.  See!  it  is  between  two 
leaves, — one  serving  as  roof,  the  other  as  floor 
and  portico.  Here  is  a  long  cable  that  comes 
out  of  her  sitting  room  and  slopes  away  to 
the  big  snare  below.  Look  at  her  sheets  of 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  249 

silk  in  the  grass.  It's  like  a  washing  that's 
been  hung  out  to  dry.  From  each  a  slender 
cord  of  silk  runs  to  the  main  cable.  Even  a 
fly's  kick  or  a  stroke  of  his  tiny  wing  must 
have  gone  up  the  tower  and  shaken  the  floor 
of  the  old  lady,  maybe,  with  a  sort  of  thun 
der.  Then  she  ran  out  and  down  the  cable 
to  rush  upon  her  helpless  prey.  She  was  an 
arrant  highwayman,  —  this  old  lady,  —  a  crea 
ture  of  craft  and  violence.  She  was  no  sooner 
married  than  she  slew  her  husband  —  a  timid 
thing  smaller  than  she  — and  ate  him  at  one 
meal.  You  know  the  ants  are  a  busy  people. 
This  road  was  probably  a  thoroughfare  for 
their  freight,  —  eggs  and  cattle  and  wild  rice. 
I'll  warrant  she  used  to  lie  and  wait  for  them ; 
and  woe  to  the  little  traveller  if  she  caught 
him  unawares,  for  she  could  nip  him  in  two 
with  a  single  thrust  of  her  knives.  Then  she 
would  seize  the  egg  he  bore  and  make  off 
with  it.  Now  the  ants  are  cunning.  They 
found  her  downstairs  and  cut  her  off  from 
her  home  and  drove  her  away  into  the  grass 
jungle.  I've  no  doubt  she  faced  a  score  of 
them,  but,  being  a  swift  climber,  with  lots  of 


250  DARREL 

rope  in  her  pocket,  was  able  to  get  away. 
The  soldier  ants  began  to  beat  the  jungle. 
They  separated,  content  to  meet  her  singly, 
knowing  she  would  refuse  to  fight  if  con 
fronted  by  more  than  one.  And  you  know 
what  happened  to  her." 

All  that  afternoon  they  spent  in  the  city  of 
the  field.  The  life  of  the  birds  in  the  great 
maple  interested  them  most  of  all.  In  the 
evening  he  played  checkers  with  Polly  and 
told  her  of  school  life  in  the  village  of  Hills- 
borough —  the  work  and  play  of  the  students. 

"  Oh !  I  do  wish  I  could  go,"  said  she, 
presently,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

He  thought  of  the  eighty-two  dollars  in  his 
pocket  and  longed  to  tell  her  all  that  he  was 
planning  for  her  sake. 

Mrs.  Vaughn  went  above  stairs  with  the  chil 
dren. 

Then  Trove  took  Polly's  hand.  They  looked 
deeply  into  each  other's  eyes  a  moment,  both 
smiling. 

"It's  your  move,"  said  she,  smiling  as  her 
glance  fell. 

He  moved  all  the  checkers. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  251 

There  came  a  breath  of  silence,  and  a  great 
surge  of  happiness  that  washed  every  checker 
off  the  board,  and  left  the  two  with  flushed 
faces.  Then,  as  Mrs.  Vaughn  was  coming 
downstairs,  the  checkers  began  to  rattle  into 
position. 

"  I  won,"  said  he,  as  the  door  opened. 

"  But  he  didn't  play  fair,"  said  Polly. 

"Children,  I'm  afraid  you're  playing  more 
love  than  checkers,"  said  the  widow.  "You're 
both  too  young  to  think  of  marriage." 

Those  two  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  checker 
board,  Polly's  chin  resting  on  her  hand.  She 
had  begun  to  smile. 

"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Trove  has  no  such  thought 
in  his  head,"  said  she,  still  looking  at  the 
board. 

"  You're  mother  is  right ;  we're  both  very 
young,"  said  Trove. 

"  I  believe  you're  afraid  of  her,"  said  Polly, 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  only  thinking  of  your  welfare,"  said 
Mrs.  Vaughn,  gently.  "  Young  love  should  be 
stored  away,  and  if  it  keeps,  why,  then  it's  all 
right." 


252  DARREL 

"  Like  preserves  !  "  said  Polly,  soberly,  as  if 
she  were  not  able  to  see  the  point. 

Against  the  protest  of  Polly  and  her  mother, 
Trove  went  to  sleep  in  the  sugar  shanty,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  back  in  the  woods.  On 
his  first  trip  with  the  drove  he  had  developed 
fondness  for  sleeping  out  of  doors.  The  shanty 
was  a  rude  structure  of  logs,  with  an  open  front. 
Tunk  went  ahead,  bearing  a  pine  torch,  while 
Trove  followed,  the  blanket  over  his  shoulder. 
They  built  a  roaring  fire  in  front  of  the  shanty 
and  sat  down  to  talk. 

"  How  have  you  been  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 

"  Like  t'  killed  me  there  at  the  ol'  maids'." 

"  Were  they  rough  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tunk,  gloomily. 

"What  then?" 

"  Hoss." 

"  Kicked  ?  "  was  Trove's  query. 

"  Lord  !     I  should  think  so.     Feel  there." 

Trove  felt  the  same  old  protuberance  on 
Tunk's  leg. 

"  Swatted  me  right  in  the  knee-pan.  Put 
both  feet  on  my  chest,  too.  Lord !  I'd  be 
coughin'  up  blood  all  the  while  if  I  wa'n't  care 
ful." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  253 

"  And  why  did  you  leave  ?  " 

"Served  me  a  mean  trick,"  said  Tunk,  frown 
ing.  "  Letishey  went  away  t'  the  village  t'  have 
a  tooth  drawed,  an'  t'other  one  locked  me  up  all 
day  in  the  garret  chamber.  Toward  night  I 
crawled  out  o'  the  window  an'  dim'  down  the 
lightnin'  rod.  An'  she  screamed  for  help  an' 
run  t'  the  neighbours.  Scairt  me  half  t'  death. 
Heavens  !  I  didn't  know  what  I'd  done  !  " 

"  Did  you  come  down  fast  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 

"  Purty  middlin'  fast." 

"Well,  a  man  never  ought  to  travel  on  a 
lightning  rod." 

Tunk  sat  in  sober  silence  a  moment,  as  if  he 
thought  it  no  proper  time  for  levity. 

"  I  made  up  my  mind,"  said  he,  with  an 
injured  look,  "it  wa'n't  goin'  t'  do  my  character 
no  good  t'  live  there  with  them  ol'  maids." 

There  was  a  bitter  contempt  in  his  voice 
when  he  said  "  ol'  maids." 

"  I'd  kind  o'  like  t'  draw  the  ribbons  over 
that  mare  o'  yourn,  mister,"  said  Tunk,  pres 
ently. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  manage  her  ? " 

"What!"    said    Tunk,    in   a   voice   of    both 


254  DARREL 

query  and  exclamation.  "  Huh  !  Don't  I  look 
as  if  I'd  been  used  t'  bosses.  There  ain't  a 
bone  in  my  body  that  ain't  been  kicked  —  some 
on  'em  two  or  three  times.  Don't  ye  notice 
how  I  walk  ?  Heavens,  man !  I  bed  my  ex 
sprung  'fore  I  was  fifteen ! " 

Tunk  referred  often  and  proudly  to  this 
early  springing  of  his  "ex,"  by  which  he 
meant  probably  that  horse  violence  had  bent 
him  askew. 

"Well,  you  shall  have  a  chance  to  drive 
her,"  said  Trove,  spreading  his  blanket.  "But 
if  I'd  gone  through  what  you  have,  I'd  keep 
out  of  danger." 

"I  like  it,"  said  Tunk,  with  emphasis.  "I 
couldn't  live  without  it.  Danger  is  a  good 
deal  like  chawin'  terbaccer  —  dum  nasty  'til 
ye  git  used  to  it.  Per  me  it's  suthin'  like 
strawberry  short-cake  and  allwus  was.  An' 
nerve,  man,  why  jes'  look  a'  there." 

He  held  out  a  hand  to  show  its  steadiness. 

"Very  good,"  Trove  remarked. 

"  Good  ?  Why,  it's  jest  as  stiddy  as  a  hitchin' 
post,  an'  purty  nigh  as  stout.  Feel  there," 
said  Tunk,  swelling  his  biceps. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  255 

"You  must  be  very  strong,"  said  Trove,  as 
he  felt  the  rigid  arm. 

"A  man  has  t'  be  in  the  hoss  business,  er 
he  ain't  nowheres.  If  they  get  wicked,  ye've 
got  t'  put  the  power  to  'em." 

Tunk  had  only  one  horse  to  care  for  at 
the  widow's,  but  he  was  always  in  "the  hoss 
business." 

Then  Tunk  lit  his  torch  and  went  away. 
Trove  lay  down,  pulled  his  blanket  about  him, 
and  went  to  sleep. 


XXIII 

A  New  Problem 

HEN  Trove  woke  in  the  morn 
ing,  a  package  covered  with 
white  paper  lay  on  the  blanket 
near  his  hand.  He  rose  and 
picked  it  up,  and  saw  his  own 
name  in  a  strange  handwriting  on  the  wrap 
per.  He  turned  it,  looking  curiously  at  seal 
and  superscription.  Tearing  it  open,  he  found 
to  his  great  surprise  a  brief  note  and  a  roll 
of  money.  "  Herein  is  a  gift  for  Mr.  Sidney 
Trove,"  said  the  note.  "The  gift  is  from  a 
friend  unknown,  who  prays  God  that  wisdom 
may  go  with  it,  so  it  prove  a  blessing  to  both." 
Trove  counted  the  money  carefully.  There 
were  $3000  in  bank  bills.  He  sat  a  moment, 
thinking;  then  he  rose,  and  began  searching 
for  tracks  around  the  shanty.  He  found  none, 
however,  in  the  dead  leaves  which  he  could 
distinguish  from  those  of  Tunk  and  himself. 
256 


DARREL  257 

"  It  must  be  from  my  father,"  said  he,  —  a 
thought  that  troubled  him  deeply,  for  it  seemed 
to  bring  ill  news  —  that  his  father  would  never 
make  himself  known. 

"  He  must  have  seen  me  last  night,"  Trove 
went  on.  "  He  must  even  have  been  near  me 
—  so  near  he  could  have  touched  me  with  his 
hand.  If  I  had  only  wakened  !  " 

He  put  the  money  in  his  pocket  and  made 
ready  to  go.  He  would  leave  at  once  in  quest 
of  Barrel  and  take  counsel  of  him.  It  was 
early,  and  he  could  see  the  first  light  of  the 
sun,  high  in  the  tall  towers  of  hemlock.  The 
forest  rang  with  bird  songs.  He  went  to 
the  brook  near  by,  and  drank  of  its  clear,  cold 
water,  and  bathed  in  it.  Then  he  walked 
slowly  to  Robin's  Inn,  where  Mrs.  Vaughn 
had  begun  building  a  fire.  She  observed  the 
troubled  look  in  his  face,  but  said  nothing  of 
it  then.  Trove  greeted  her  and  went  to  the 
stable  to  feed  his  mare.  As  he  neared  the 
door  he  heard  a  loud  "  Whoa."  He  entered 
softly,  and  the  big  barn,  that  joined  the  stable, 
began  to  ring  with  noise.  He  heard  Tunk 
shouting  "  Whoa,  whoa,  whoa !  "  at  the  top  of 


258  DARREL 

his  voice.  Peering  through,  he  could  see  the 
able  horseman  leaning  back  upon  a  pair  of 
reins  tied  to  a  beam  in  front  of  him.  His  cry 
and  attitude  were  like  those  of  a  jockey  driv 
ing  a  hard  race.  He  saw  Trove,  and  began 
to  slow  up. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man  —  there's  no  doubt  of 
it,"  said  the  teacher. 

"What  makes  ye  think  so?"  Tunk  inquired 
soberly,  but  with  a  glowing  eye. 

"  If  you  were  not  brave,  you'd  scare  yourself 
to  death,  yelling  that  way." 

"  It  isn't  possible,  or  Tunk  would  have  per 
ished  long  ago,"  said  the  widow,  who  had  come 
to  feed  her  chickens. 

"  It's  enough  to  raise  the  neighbours,"  Trove 
added. 

"There  ain't  any  near  neighbours  but  them 
over  'n  the  buryin'-ground,  and  they  must  be  a 
little  uneasy,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Used  t'  drive  so  much  in  races,"  said  Tunk, 
"  got  t'  be  kind  of  a  habit  with  me  —  seems  so. 
Ain't  eggzac'ly  happy  less  I  have  holt  o'  the 
ribbons  every  day  or  two.  Ye  know  I  used  t' 
drive  ol'  crazy  Jane.  She  pulled  like  Satan. 


of  the  BLESSED*    ISLES  259 

All  ye  had  t'  do  was  t'  lean  back  an'  let  'er 
sail." 

"  But  why  do  you  shout  that  way  ?  " 

"  Scares  the  other  hosses,"  Tunk  answered, 
dropping  the  reins  and  tossing  his  whip  aside. 
"  It's  a  shame  I  have  t'  fool  my  time  away  up 
here  on  a  farm." 

He  went  to  work  at  the  chores,  frowning  with 
discontent.  Trove  watered  and  fed  his  mare 
and  went  in  to  breakfast.  An  hour  later,  he 
bade  them  all  good-by,  and  set  out  for  Allen's. 
A  new  fear  began  to  weigh  upon  him  as  he 
travelled.  Was  this  a  part  of  that  evil  sum, 
and  had  his  father  begun  now  to  scatter  what 
he  had  never  any  right  to  touch  ?  Whoever 
brought  him  that  big  roll  of  money  had  robbed 
him  of  his  peace.  Even  his  ribs,  against  which 
it  chafed  as  he  rode  along,  began  to  feel  sore. 
Home  at  last,  he  put  up  the  mare  and  went  to 
tell  his  mother  that  he  must  be  off  for  Hills- 
borough. 

"  My  son,"  said  she,  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
"  our  eyes  are  growing  dim  and  for  a  long  time 
have  seen  little  of  you." 

"And  I  feel  the  loss,"  Trove  answered.    "I 


260  BARREL 

have  things  to  do  there,  and  shall  return  to 
night." 

"  You  look  troubled,"  was  her  answer.  "  Poor 
boy  !  I  pray  God  to  keep  you  unspotted  of  the 
world."  She  was  ever  fearing  unhappy  news 
of  the  mystery  —  that  something  evil  would 
come  out  of  it. 

As  Trove  rode  away  he  took  account  of  all  he 
owed  those  good  people  who  had  been  mother 
and  father  to  him.  What  a  pleasure  it  would 
give  him  to  lay  that  goodly  sum  in  the  lap  of  his 
mother  and  bid  her  spend  it  with  no  thought  of 
economy. 

The  mare  knew  him  as  one  may  know  a 
brother.  There  was  in  her  manner  some  subtle 
understanding  of  his  mood.  Her  master  saw  it 
in  the  poise  of  her  head,  in  the  shift  of  her  ears, 
and  in  her  tender  way  of  feeling  for  his  hand. 
She,  too,  was  looking  right  and  left  in  the  fields. 
There  were  the  scenes  of  a  boyhood,  newly 
but  forever  gone.  "  That's  where  you  overtook 
me  on  the  way  to  school,"  said  he  to  Phyllis,  for 
so  the  tinker  had  named  her. 

She  drew  at  the  rein,  starting  playfully  as  she 
heard  his  voice,  and  shaking  his  hand  as  if  to 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  261 

say,  "  Oh,  master,  give  me  the  rein.  I  will  bear 
you  swiftly  to  happiness." 

Trove  looked  down  at  her  proudly,  patting 
the  silken  arch  of  her  neck.  If,  as  Barrel  had 
once  told  him,  God  took  note  of  the  look  of  one's 
horses,  she  was  fit  for  the  last  journey.  Arriv 
ing  at  Hillsborough,  he  tied  her  in  the  sheds  and 
took  his  way  to  the  Sign  of  the  Dial.  Barrel 
was  working  at  his  little  bench.  He  turned 
wearily,  his  face  paler  than  Trove  had  ever  seen 
it,  his  eyes  deeper  under  their  fringe  of  silvered 
hair. 

"An'  God  be  praised,  the  boy!"  said  he, 
rising  quickly.  "  Canst  thou  make  a  jest,  boy, 
a  merry  jest? " 

"  Not  until  you  have  told  me  what's  the 
matter." 

"  Illness  an'  the  food  o'  bitter  fancy,"  said 
the  tinker,  with  a  sad  face. 

"  Bitter  fancy  ? " 

"  Yes ;  an'  o'  thee,  boy.  Had  I  gathered  care 
in  the  broad  fields  all  me  life  an'  heaped  it  on 
thy  back,  I  could  not  have  done  worse  by  thee." 

Barrel  put  his  hand  upon  the  boy's  shoulder, 
surveying  him  from  head  to  foot. 


262  DARREL 

"  But,  marry,"  he  added,  "  'tis  a  mighty  thigh 
an'  a  broad  back." 

"  Have  you  seen  my  father  ?  " 

"Yes." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  Trove 
began  to  change  colour. 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ? " 

"  That  he  will  bear  his  burden  alone." 

Then,  for  a  moment,  silence  and  the  ticking 
of  the  clocks. 

"  And  I  shall  never  know  my  father  ? "  said 
Trove,  presently,  his  lips  trembling.  "  God, 
sir!  I  insist  upon  it.  I  have  a  right  to  his 
name  and  to  his  shame  also."  The  young  man 
sank  upon  a  chair,  covering  his  face. 

"  Nay,  boy,  it  is  not  wise,"  said  Barrel,  ten 
derly.  "  Take  thought  of  it  —  thou'rt  young. 
The  time  is  near  when  thy  father  can  make 
restitution,  ay,  an'  acknowledge  his  sin  before 
the  world.  All  very  near  to  him,  saving  thy 
self,  are  dead.  Now,  whatever  comes,  it  can 
do  thee  no  harm." 

"  But  I  care  not  for  disgrace ;  and  often  you 
have  told  me  that  I  should  live  and  speak  the 
truth,  even  though  it  burn  me  to  the  bone." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  263 

"  So  have  I,  boy,  so  have  I ;  but  suppose  it 
burn  others  to  the  bone.  It  will  burn  thy  wife, 
an'  thy  children,  an'  thy  children's  children, 
and  them  that  have  reared  thee,  an'  it  would 
burn  thy  father  most  of  all." 

Trove  was  utterly  silenced.  His  father  was 
bent  on  keeping  his  own  disgrace. 

"  Mind  thee,  boy,  the  law  o'  truth  is  great,  but 
the  law  o'  love  is  greater.  A  lie  for  the  sake  o' 
love  —  think  o'  that  a  long  time,  think  until  thy 
heart  is  worn  with  all  fondness  an'  thy  soul  is 
ready  for  its  God,  then  judge  it." 

"  But  when  he  makes  confession  I  shall 
know,  and  go  to  him,  and  stand  by  his  side," 
the  young  man  remarked. 

"  Nay,  boy,  rid  thy  mind  o'  that.  If  ye  were 
to  hear  of  his  crime,  ye'd  never  know  it  was  thy 
father's." 

"  It  is  a  bitter  sorrow,  but  I  shall  make  the 
best  of  it,"  said  Trove. 

"Ay,  make  the  best  of  it.  Thou'rt  now  in 
the  deep  sea,  an'  God  guide  thee." 

"  But  I  ask  your  help  —  will  you  read  that  ?  " 
said  Trove,  handing  him  the  mysterious  note 
that  came  with  the  roll  of  money. 


264  DARREL 

"An'  how  much  came  with  it?"  said  Barrel, 
as  he  read  the  lines. 

"  Three  thousand  dollars.  Here  they  are ; 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  them." 

"  'Tis  a  large  sum,  an*  maybe  from  thy 
father,"  said  Barrel,  looking  down  at  the  money. 
"  Possibly,  quite  possibly  it  is  from  thy  father." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  with  the  money  ?  It  is 
cursed ;  I  can  make  no  use  of  it." 

"  Ah,  boy,  of  one  thing  be  sure ;  it  is  not  the 
stolen  money.  For  many  years  thy  father  hath 
been  a  frugal  man  —  saving,  ever  saving  the 
poor  fruit  of  his  toil.  Nay,  boy,  if  it  come  o' 
thy  father,  have  no  fear  o'  that.  For  a  time  put 
thy  money  in  the  bank." 

"Then  my  father  lives  near  me  —  where  I 
may  be  meeting  him  every  day  of  my  life  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Barrel,  shaking  his  head.  Then 
lifting  his  finger  and  looking  into  the  eyes  of 
Trove,  he  spoke  slowly  and  with  deep  feeling. 
"  Now  that  ye  know  his  will  I  warn  ye,  boy, 
seek  him  no  more.  Were  ye  to  meet  him  now 
an'  know  him  for  thy  father  an'  yet  refuse  to 
let  him  pass,  I'd  think  thee  a  monster  o'  selfish 
cruelty." 


XXIV 


Beginning  the  Book  of  Trouble 


T 


HE  rickety  stairway  seemed 
to  creak  with  surprise  at  the 
slowness  of  his  feet  as  Trove 
descended.  It  was  circus  day, 
and  there  were  few  in  the  street. 
Neither  looking  to  right  nor  left  he  hurried  to 
the  bank  of  Hillsborough  and  left  his  money. 
Then,  mounting  his  mare,  he  turned  to  the 
wooded  hills  and  went  away  at  a  swift  gallop. 
When  the  village  lay  far  behind  them  and  the 
sun  was  low,  he  drew  rein  to  let  the  mare 
breathe,  and  turned,  looking  down  the  long 
stairway  of  the  hills.  In  the  south  great  green 
waves  of  timber  land  rose  into  the  sun-glow  as 
they  swept  over  hill  and  mountain.  Presently 
he  could  hear  a  galloping  horse  and  a  faint 
halloo  down  the  valley,  out  of  which  he  had  just 
come.  He  stopped,  listening,  and  soon  a  man 
265 


266  BARREL 

and  horse,  the  latter  nearly  spent  with  fast 
travel,  came  up  the  pike. 

"  Well,  by  Heaven  !  You  gave  me  a  hard 
chase,"  said  the  man. 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  me?"  Trove  inquired. 

"Yes  —  my  name  is  Spinnel.  I  am  con 
nected  with  the  bank  of  Hillsborough.  Your 
name  is  Trove  —  Sidney  Trove  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  deposited  three  thousand  dollars  to 
day  ? " 

"  I  did." 

"  Well,  I've  come  to  see  you  and  ask  a  few 
questions.  I've  no  authority,  and  you  can  do  as 
you  like  about  answering." 

The  man  pulled  up  near  Trove  and  took  a 
note-book  and  pencil  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  First,  how  came  you  by  that  money  ? "  said 
he,  with  some  show  of  excitement  in  his 
manner. 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  Trove,  coolly. 

"There's  more  or  less  truth  in  that,"  said  the 
other.  "  But  I'll  explain.  Night  before  last  the 
bank  in  Milldam  was  robbed,  and  the  clerk  who 
slept  there  badly  hurt.  Now,  I've  no  doubt 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  267 

you're  all  right,  but  here's  a  curious  fact 
—  the  sum  taken  was  about  three  thousand 
dollars." 

Trove  began  to  change  colour.  He  dis 
mounted,  looking  up  at  the  stranger  and  hold 
ing  both  horses  by  the  bit. 

"And  they  think  me  a  thief  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"No,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "They've  no 
doubt  you  can  explain  everything." 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  money," 
said  Trove.  "  But  come,  let's  keep  the  horses 
warm." 

They  led  them  and,  walking  slowly,  Trove 
told  of  his  night  in  the  sugar-bush.  Something 
in  the  manner  of  Spinnel  slowed  his  feet  and 
words.  The  story  was  finished.  They  stopped, 
turning  face  to  face. 

"  It's  grossly  improbable,"  Trove  suggested 
thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  the  kind  o'  thing  that  happens 
every  day  or  two,"  said  the  other.  "  If  you're 
innocent,  you  won't  mind  my  looking  you  over 
a  little  to  see  if  you  have  wounds  or  weapons. 
Understand,  I've  no  authority,  but  if  you  wish, 
I'll  do  it." 


268  DARREL 

"  Glad  to  have  you.  Here's  a  hunting-knife, 
and  a  flint,  and  some  bird  shot,"  Trove  answered, 
as  he  began  to  empty  his  pockets. 

Spinnel  examined  the  hunting-knife  and  looked 
carefully  at  each  pocket. 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  off  your  coat  ? "  he 
inquired. 

The  young  man  removed  his  coat,  uncover 
ing  a  small  spatter  of  blood  on  a  shirt-sleeve. 

"There's  no  use  going  any  farther  with  this," 
said  the  young  man,  impatiently.  "  Come  on 
home  with  me,  and  I'll  go  back  with  you  in 
the  morning  and  prove  my  innocence." 

The  two  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  a 
long  way  in  silence. 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Trove,  presently,  "that 
the  robber  was  a  man  that  knew  me  and,  being 
close  pressed,  planned  to  divert  suspicion." 

Save  that  of  the  stranger,  there  was  no  sleep 
at  the  little  house  in  Brier  Dale  that  night. 
But,  oddly,  for  Mary  and  Theron  Allen  it  be 
came  a  night  of  dear  and  lasting  memories  of 
their  son.  He  sat  long  with  them  under  the 
pine  trees,  and  for  the  first  time  they  saw  and 
felt  his  strength  and  were  as  children  before  it. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  269 

"It's  all  a  school,"  said  he,  calmly.  "An' 
I'm  just  beginning  to  study  the  Book  of  Trouble. 
It's  full  of  rather  tough  problems,  but  I'm  not 
going  to  flunk  or  fail  in  it." 


XXV 

The  Spider  Snares 


ROVE  and  Spinnel  were  in 
Hillsborough  soon  after  sunrise 
the  morning  of  that  memorable 
day.  The  young  man  rapped 
loudly  on  the  broad  door  at  the 
Sign  of  the  Dial,  but  within  all  was  silent.  The 
day  before  Barrel  had  spoken  of  going  off  to 
the  river  towns,  and  must  have  started.  A 
lonely  feeling  came  into  the  boy's  heart  as  he 
turned  away.  He  went  promptly  to  the  house 
of  the  district  attorney  and  told  all  he  knew  of 
the  money  that  he  had  put  in  the  bank.  He 
recounted  all  that  took  place  the  afternoon  of 
his  stay  at  Robin's  Inn  —  the  battles  of  the 
cocks,  and  the  spider,  and  how  the  wounded 
fowl  had  probably  sprinkled  his  sleeve  with 
blood.  In  half  an  hour,  news  of  the  young  man's 
trouble  had  gone  to  every  house  in  the  village. 
Soon  a  score  of  his  schoolmates  and  half  the 
270 


DARREL  271 

faculty  were  at  his  side  —  there  in  the  room 
of  the  justice.  Theron  Allen  arrived  at  nine 
o'clock,  although  at  that  hour  two  responsible 
men  had  already  given  a  bail-bond.  After  din 
ner,  Trove,  a  constable,  and  the  attorney  rode 
to  Robin's  Inn.  The  news  had  arrived  before 
them,  but  only  the  two  boys  and  Tunk  were  at 
home.  The  latter  stood  in  front  of  the  stable, 
looking  earnestly  up  the  road. 

"  Hello,"  said  he,  gazing  curiously  at  horse  and 
men  as  they  came  up  to  the  door.  He  seemed  to 
be  eyeing  the  attorney  with  hopeful  anticipation. 

"Tunk,"  said  Trove,  cheerfully,  "you  have 
a  mournful  eye." 

Tunk  advanced  slowly,  still  gazing,  both 
hands  deep  in  his  trousers  pockets. 

"  Ez  Tower  just  went  by,"  said  he,  with  sup 
pressed  feeling.  "  Said  you  was  arrested  fer 
murder." 

"  I  presume  you  were  surprised." 

"Wai,"  said  he,  "  Ez  ain't  said  a  word  before 
in  six  months." 

Tunk  opened  the  horse's  mouth  and  stood 
a  moment,  peering  thoughtfully  at  his  teeth. 

"  Kind  of  unexpected  to  be  spoke  to  by  Ez 


272  DARREL 

Tower,"  he  added,  turning  his  eyes  upon  them 
with  the  same  curious  look. 

The  interrogation  of  Tunk  and  the  two  boys 
began  immediately.  The  story  of  the  fowl 
corroborated,  the  sugar-bush  became  an  object 
of  investigation.  Milldam  was  ten  miles  away, 
and  it  was  quite  possible  for  the  young  man  to 
have  ridden  there  and  back  between  the  hour 
when  Tunk  left  him  and  that  of  sunrise  when 
he  met  Mrs.  Vaughn  at  her  door.  Trove  and 
Tunk  Hosely  went  with  the  officers  down  a 
lane  to  the  pasture  and  thence  into  the  wood 
by  a  path  they  followed  that  night  to  and  from 
the  shanty.  They  discovered  nothing  new, 
save  one  remarkable  circumstance  that  baffled 
Trove  and  renewed  the  waning  suspicion  of 
the  men  of  the  law.  On  almost  a  straight 
line  from  bush  to  barn  were  tracks  of  a  man 
that  showed  plainly  where  they  came  out  of  the 
grass  upon  the  garden  soil.  Now,  the  strange 
part  of  it  lay  in  this  fact :  the  boots  of  Sidney 
Trove  exactly  fitted  the  tracks.  They  followed 
the  footprints  carefully  into  the  meadow-grass 
and  up  to  the  stalk  of  mullen.  Near  the  top 
of  it  was  the  abandoned  home  of  the  spider 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  273 

and  around  it  were  the  four  snares  Trove  had 
observed,  now  full  of  prey. 

"  Do  not  disturb  the  grass  here,"  said  Trove, 
"  and  I  will  prove  to  you  that  the  tracks  were 
made  before  the  night  in  question.  Do  you 
see  the  four  webs  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  attorney. 

"The  tracks  go  under  them,"  said  Trove, 
"and  must,  therefore,  have  been  made  before 
the  webs.  I  will  prove  to  you  that  the  webs 
were  spun  before  two  o'clock  of  the  day  before 
yesterday.  At  that  hour  I  saw  the  spinner  die. 
See,  her  lair  is  deserted." 

He  broke  the  stalk  of  mullen  and  the  cables 
of  spider  silk  that  led  away  from  it,  and  all  in 
spected  the  empty  lair.  Then  he  told  of  that 
deadly  battle  in  the  grass. 

"  But  these  webs  might  have  been  the  work 
of  another  spider,"  said  the  attorney. 

"It  matters  not,"  Trove  insisted,  "for  the 
webs  were  spun  at  least  twelve  hours  before 
the  crime.  One  of  them  contains  the  body  of 
a  red  butterfly  with  starred  wings.  We  cut  the 
wings  that  day,  and  Miss  Vaughn  put  them  in 
a  book  she  was  reading." 


274  DARREL 

Paul  brought  the  wings,  which  exactly  fitted 
the  tiny  torso  of  the  butterfly.  They  could 
discern  the  footprints,  one  of  which  had  broken 
the  ant's  road,  while  another  was  completely 
covered  by  the  butterfly  snare. 

"  Those  tracks  were  made  before  the  webs  — 
that  is  evident,"  said  the  attorney.  "  Do  you 
know  who  made  the  tracks  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,"  was  the  answer  of  the  young  man. 

Trove  remained  at  Robin's  Inn  that  night, 
and  after  the  men  had  gone  he  recalled  a  cir 
cumstance  that  was  like  a  flash  of  lightning  in 
the  dark  of  his  great  mystery. 

Once  at  the  Sign  of  the  Dial  his  friend,  the 
tinker,  had  shown  him  a  pair  of  new  boots. 
He  remembered  they  were  of  the  same  size 
and  shape  as  those  he  wore. 

"We  could  wear  the  same  boots,"  he  had 
remarked  to  Darrel. 

"  Had  I  to  do  such  penance  I  should  be 
damned,"  the  tinker  had  answered.  "  Look, 
boy,  mine  are  the  larger  by  far.  There's  a 
man  coming  to  see  me  at  the  Christmas  time 
—  a  man  o'  busy  feet.  That  pair  in  your  hands 
I  bought  for  him." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  275 

"  Day  before  yesterday,"  said  Tunk,  that 
evening,  "  I  was  up  in  the  sugar-bush  after 
a  bit  o'  hickory,  an'  I  see  a  man  there,  an'  I 
didn't  have  no  idee  who  'twas.  He  was  tall 
and  had  white  hair  an'  whiskers  an'  a  short 
blue  coat.  When  I  first  see  him  he  was  settin' 
on  a  log,  but  'fore  I  come  nigh  he  got  up  an' 
made  off." 

Although  meagre,  the  description  was  suffi 
cient.  Trove  had  no  longer  any  doubt  of  this 
—  that  the  stranger  he  had  seen  at  Barrel's 
had  been  hiding  in  the  bush  that  day  whose 
events  were  now  so  important. 

Whoever  had  brought  the  money,  he  must 
have  known  much  of  the  plans  and  habits  of 
the  young  man,  and,  the  night  before  Trove's 
arrival  at  Robin's  Inn,  he  came,  probably,  to 
the  sugar  woods,  where  he  spent  the  next  day 
in  hiding. 

The  young  man  was  deeply  troubled.  Polly 
and  her  mother  sat  well  into  the  night  with 
him,  hearing  the  story  of  his  life,  which  he  told 
in  full,  saving  only  the  sin  of  his  father.  Of 
that  he  had  neither  the  right  nor  the  heart  to 
tell. 


276  BARREL 

"God  only  knows  what  is  the  next  chapter," 
said  he,  at  last.  "  It  may  rob  me  of  all  that  I 
love  in  this  world." 

"  But  not  of  me,"  said  Polly,  whispering  in 
his  ear. 

"  I  wish  I  were  sure  of  that,"  he  answered. 


XXVI 

The  Coming  of  the  Cars 


T 


HAT  year  was  one  of  much 
reckoning  there  in  the  land 
of  the  hills.  A  year  it  was 
of  historic  change  and  popu 
lar  excitement.  To  begin  with, 
a  certain  rich  man  bought  a  heavy  cannon, 
which  had  roared  at  the  British  on  the  fron 
tier  in  1812,  and  gave  it  to  the  town  of 
Hillsborough.  It  was  no  sooner  dumped  on 
the  edge  of  the  little  park  than  it  became  a 
target  of  criticism.  The  people  were  to  be 
taxed  for  the  expense  of  mounting  it — "Taxed 
fer  a  thing  we  ain't  no  more  need  of  than 
a  bear  has  need  of  a  hair-brush,"  said  one  citi 
zen.  Those  Yankees  came  of  men  who  helped 
to  fling  the  tea  into  Boston  harbour,  and  had 
some  hereditary  fear  of  taxes. 

Hunters  and  trappers  were  much  impressed 
277 


278  BARREL 

by  it.  They  felt  it  over,  peering  curiously  into 
the  muzzle,  with  one  eye  closed. 

"  Ye  couldn't  kill  nuthin'  with  it,"  said  one  of 
them. 

"  If  I  was  to  pick  it  up  an'  hit  ye  over  the 
head  with  it,  I  guess  ye  wouldn't  think  so,"  said 
another. 

Familiarity  bred  contempt,  and  by  and  by 
they  began  to  shoot  at  it  from  the  tavern  steps. 

The  gun  lay  rejected  and  much  in  the  way 
until  its  buyer  came  to  his  own  rescue  and 
agreed  to  pay  for  the  mounting.  Then  came 
another  and  more  famous  controversy  as  to 
which  way  they  should  "  p'int "  the  gun.  Some 
favoured  one  direction,  some  another,  and  at 
last,  by  way  of  compliment,  they  "  p'inted "  it 
squarely  at  the  house  of  the  giver  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  park.  And  it  was  loaded  to  the 
muzzle  with  envy  and  ingratitude. 

The  arrest  of  Sidney  Trove,  also,  had  filled 
the  town  with  exciting  rumours,  and  gossip  of 
him  seemed  to  travel  on  the  four  winds  — much 
of  it  as  unkind  as  it  was  unfounded. 

Then  came  surveyors,  and  promoters  of  the 
railroad,  and  a  plan  of  aiding  it  by  bonding  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  279 

towns  it  traversed.  In  the  beginning  horror 
and  distrust  were  in  many  bosoms.  If  the  devil 
and  some  of  his  angels  had  come,  he  might, 
indeed,  for  a  time,  have  made  more  converts 
and  less  excitement 

"  It's  a  delusion  an'  a  snare,"  said  old  Colonel 
Barclay  in  a  speech.  "  Who  wants  t'  whiz 
through  the  air  like  a  bullet?  God  never  in 
tended  men  to  go  slidin'  over  the  earth  that 
way.  It  ain't  nat'ral  ner  it  ain't  common  sense. 
Some  say  it  would  bring  more  folks  into  this 
country.  I  say  we  can  supply  all  the  folks 
that's  nec'sary.  I've  got  fourteen  in  my  own 
family.  S'pose  ye  lived  on  a  tremendous  side- 
hill  that  reached  clear  to  New  York  City,  so  ye 
could  git  on  a  sled  an'  scoot  off  like  a  streak  o' 
lightnin'.  Do  ye  think  ye'd  be  any  happier  ? 
Do  ye  think  ye'd  chop  any  more  wood  er  raise 
a  bigger  crop  o'  potatoes  ?  S'pose  ye  could 
scoot  yer  crops  right  down  t'  Albany  in  a  day. 
That  would  be  all  right  if  ye  was  the  only  man 
that  was  scootin',  but  if  there  was  anything  t' 
be  made  by  it,  there'd  be  more  than  a  million 
sleds  on  the  way,  an'  ye  couldn't  sell  yer  stuff 
for  so  much  as  ye  git  here.  Some  day  ye'd 


280  BARREL 

come  home  and  ask  where's  Ma  an'  Mary,  and 
then  Sam  would  say,  *  Why,  Mary's  slid  down 
t'  New  York,  and  the  last  I  see  o'  Ma  she  was 
scootin'  for  Rochester.' ' 

Here,  the  record  says,  Colonel  Barclay  was 
interrupted  by  laughter  and  a  voice. 

"  Wai,  if  there  was  a  railroad,  they  could  scoot 
back  ag'in,"  said  the  voice. 

"Yes,"  the  Colonel  rejoined,  "but  mebbe 
after  they'd  been  there  a  while  ye'd  wish  they 
couldn't.  Wai,  you  git  your  own  supper,  an' 
then  Sam  says,  says  he,  '  I  guess  I'll  scoot  over 
t'  Watertown  and  see  my  gal  fer  a  few  minutes.' 
An'  ye  sit  by  the  fire  a  while,  rockin'  the  twins, 
an'  by  and  by  yer  wife  comes  back.  An'  ye 
say,  '  Ma,  why  don't  ye  stay  t'  home  ? '  '  Wai/ 
says  she,  '  it  is  so  splendid,  and  there's  so  much 
goin'  on.'  An'  Mary,  she  begins  t'  talk  as  if 
she'd  bit  her  tongue,  an'  step  stylish,  an'  hold  up 
her  dress  like  that,  jest  as  though  she  was  steppin' 
over  a  hot  griddle.  Purty  soon  it's  dizzle-dazzle 
an'  flippity-floppity  an'  splendiferous  and  sew- 
perb,  an'  the  first  thing  ye  know  ye  ain't  knee- 
high  to  a  grasshopper.  Sam  he  comes  back  an' 
tells  Ed  all  about  the  latest  devilment.  You 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  281 

hear  of  it ;  then,  mebbe,  ye  begin  to  limber  up 
an'  think  ye'll  try  it  yerself.  An'  some  morning 
ye'll  wake  up  an'  find  yer  moral  character  has 
scooted.  You  fellers  that  go  t'  meetin'  here 
an'  talk  about  resistin'  temptation  —  if  you  ever 
git  t'  goin'  it  down  there  in  New  York  City, 
temptation  '11  have  to  resist  you.  My  friends, 
ye  don't  want  to  make  it  too  easy  fer  everybody 
to  go  somewhere  else.  If  ye  do,  by  an'  by  there 
won't  be  nobody  left  here  but  them  that's  too 
old  t'  scoot  er  a  few  sickly  young  folks  who 
don't  care  fer  the  sinful  attractions  o'  this 
world." 

Who  shall  say  that  old  Colonel  Barclay  had 
not  the  tongue  of  a  prophet  ? 

"  An'  how  about  the  cost  ?  "  he  added  in  con 
clusion.  "  Fellow-citizens,  ye'll  have  to  pay  five 
cents  a  mile  fer  yer  scootin',  an'  a  tax,  —  a  tax, 
fellow-citizens,  to  help  pay  the  cost  o'  the  rail 
road.  If  there's  anybody  here  that  don't  feel  as 
if  he'd  been  taxed  enough,  he  ought  t'  be  taxed 
fer  his  folly." 

The  dread  of  "  scooting  "  grew  for  a  time, 
but  wise  men  were  able  to  overcome  it. 


282  DARREL 

In  1850,  the  iron  way  had  come  through  the 
wilderness  and  begun  to  rend  the  northern 
hills.  Some  were  rilled  with  awe,  learning 
for  the  first  time  that  in  the  moving  of  moun 
tains  giant-powder  was  more  efficient  than 
faith.  Soon  it  had  passed  Hillsborough  and 
was  finished.  Everybody  came  to  see  the  cars 
that  day  of  the  first  train.  The  track  was 
lined  with  people  at  every  village;  many  with 
children  upon  arms  and  shoulders.  They 
waited  long,  and  when  the  iron  horse  came 
roaring  out  of  the  distance,  women  fell  back 
and  men  rolled  their  quids  and  looked  eagerly 
up  the  track.  It  came  on  with  screaming 
whistle  and  noisy  brakes  and  roaring  wheels. 
Children  began  to  cry  with  fear  and  men  to  yell 
with  excitement.  Dogs  were  barking  wildly, 
and  two  horses  ran  away,  dragging  with  them 
part  of  a  picket-fence.  A  brown  shoat  came 
bounding  over  the  ties  and  broke  through  the 
wall  of  people,  carrying  many  off  their  feet 
and  creating  panic  and  profanity.  The  train 
stopped,  its  engine  hissing.  A  brakeman  of 
flashy  attire,  with  fine  leather  showing  to  the 
knees,  strolled  off  and  up  the  platform  on  high 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  283 

heels,  haughty  as  a  prince.  Confusion  began 
to  abate. 

"Hear  it  pant,"  said  one,  looking  at  the 
engine. 

"  Seems  so  it  had  the  heaves,"  another  re 
marked  thoughtfully. 

"  Goes  like  the  wind,"  said  a  passenger,  who 
had  just  alighted.  "Jerked  us  ten  mile  in 
less  'n  twenty  minutes." 

"Folks  '11  have  to  be  made  o'  cast  iron  to 
ride  on  them  air  cars,"  said  another.  "  I'd 
ruther  set  on  the  tail  of  a  threshin'-machine. 
It  gave  a  slew  on  the  turn  up  yender,  an'  I 
thought  'twas  goin'  right  over  Bowman's 
barn.  It  flung  me  up  ag'in  the  side  o'  the 
car,  an'  I  see  stars  fer  a  minute.  *  What's 
happened,'  says  I  to  another  chap.  '  Oh,  we're 
all  right,'  says  he.  '  Be  we  ? '  says  I,  an'  then 
I  see  I'd  lost  a  tooth  an'  broke  my  glasses. 
'  That  ain't  nuthin','  says  he,  '  I  had  my  foot 
braced  over  ag'in  that  other  seat,  an'  somebody 
fell  back  on  my  leg,  an'  I  guess  the  knee  is 
out  o'  j'int.  But  I'm  alive,  an'  I  ain't  got  no 
fault  to  find.  If  I  ever  git  off  this  shebang, 
I'm  goin'  out  in  the  woods  somewhere  an'  set 


284  BARREL 

down  an'  see  what  kind  o'  shape  I'm  in.  I 
guess  I'm  purty  nigh  sp'ilt,  an'  it  cost  me  fifty 
cents  t'  do  it.' 

"'An'  all  yer  common  sense,  tew,'  says  I." 

A  number  got  aboard,  and  the  train  started. 
Rip  Enslow  was  on  the  rear  platform,  his 
faithful  hound  galloping  gayly  behind  the 
train.  Some  one  had  tied  him  to  the  brake  rod. 
Nearly  a  score  of  dogs  followed,  barking  merrily. 
Rip's  hound  came  back  soon,  his  tongue  low, 
his  tail  between  his  legs.  A  number  called  to 
him,  but  he  seemed  to  know  his  own  mind  per 
fectly,  and  made  for  the  stream  and  lay  down 
in  the  middle  of  it,  lapping  the  shallow  water, 
and  stayed  there  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

A  crowd  of  hunters  watched  him. 

"  Looks  so  he'd  been  ketched  by  a  bear," 
said  one. 

In  half  an  hour  Rip  returned  also,  a  shoulder 
out  of  joint,  a  lump  on  his  forehead,  a  big 
rent  in  his  trousers.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  of  whom  others  gather  wisdom,  for,  after 
that,  everybody  in  the  land  of  the  hills  knew 
better  than  to  jump  off  the  cars  or  tie  his 
hound  to  the  rear  platform. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  285 

And  dogs  came  to  know,  after  a  little  while, 
that  the  roaring  dragon  was  really  afraid  of 
them  and  would  run  like  a  very  coward  if  it 
saw  a  dog  coming  across  the  fields.  Every 
small  cur  that  lived  in  sight  of  it  lay  in  the 
tall  grass,  and  when  he  saw  the  dragon  com 
ing,  chased  him  off  the  farm  of  his  master. 

Among  those  who  got  off  the  train  at  Hills- 
borough  that  day  was  a  big,  handsome  youth 
of  some  twenty  years.  In  all  the  crowd  there 
were  none  had  ever  seen  him  before.  Dressed 
in  the  height  of  fashion,  he  was  a  figure  so 
extraordinary  that  all  eyes  observed  him  as  he 
made  his  way  to  the  tavern.  Trove  and  Polly 
and  Mrs.  Vaughn  were  in  that  curious  throng 
on  the  platform,  where  a  depot  was  being  built. 

"  My !  What  a  splendid-looking  fellow," 
said  Polly,  as  the  stranger  passed. 

Trove  had  a  swift  pang  of  jealousy  that 
moment.  Turning,  he  saw  Riley  Brooke  —  now 
known  as  the  "Old  Rag  Doll "  —  standing 
near  them  in  a  group  of  villagers. 

"  I  tell  you,  he's  a  thief,"  the  boy  heard  him 
saying,  and  the  words  seemed  to  blister  as  they 
fell;  and  ever  after,  when  he  thought  of  them, 


286  BARREL 

a  great  sternness  lay  like  a  shadow  on  his 
brow. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  he,  calmly  turning  to 
Polly.  "  Let  me  help  you  into  the  wagon." 

When  they  were  gone,  he  stood  a  moment 
thinking.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  friendless  and 
alone. 

"  You're  a  giant  to  day,"  said  a  friend,  passing 
him;  but  Trove  made  no  answer.  Roused 
incomprehensibly,  his  heavy  muscles  had  be 
come  tense,  and  he  had  an  odd  consciousness 
of  their  power.  The  people  were  scattering, 
and  he  walked  slowly  down  the  street.  The 
sun  was  low,  but  he  thought  not  of  home  or 
where  he  should  spend  the  night.  It  was  now 
the  third  day  after  his  arrest.  Since  noon  he 
had  been  looking  for  Barrel,  but  the  tinker's 
door  had  been  locked  for  days,  according  to  the 
carpenter  who  was  at  work  below.  For  an 
hour  Trove  walked,  passing  up  and  dov  ,.  before 
that  familiar  stairway,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  his 
friend.  Daylight  was  dim  when  the  tinker 
stopped  by  the  stairs  and  began  to  feel  for  his 
key.  The  young  man  was  quickly  at  the  side 
of  Barrel. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  287 

"  God  be  praised  !  "  said  the  latter  ;  "  here  is 
the  old  Dial  an'  the  strong  an'  noble  Trove.  I 
heard  o*  thy  trouble,  boy,  far  off  on  the  post- 
road,  an'  I  have  made  haste  to  come  .to  thee." 


XXVII 


The  Rare  and  Costly  Cup 


T 


ROVE  had  been  reciting  the 
history  of  his  trouble  and  had 
finished  with  bitter  words. 

"  Shame  on  thee,  boy,"  said 
the  tinker,  as  Trove  sat  be 
fore  him  with  tears  of  anger  in  his  eyes. 
"  Watch  yonder  pendulum  and  say  not  a  word 
until  it  has  ticked  forty  times.  For  what  are 
thy  learning  an'  thy  mighty  thews  if  they  do 
not  bear  thee  up  in  time  o'  trouble  ?  Now  is 
thy  trial  come  before  the  Judge  of  all.  Up 
with  thy  head,  boy,  an'  be  acquitted  o'  weak 
ness  an'  fear  an'  evil  passion." 

"We  deserve  better  of  him,"  said  Trove, 
speaking  of  Riley  Brooke.  "When  all  others 
hated  him,  we  were  kind  to  the  old  sinner,  and 
it  has  done  him  no  good." 

"Ah,  but  has  it  done  thee  goocj  ?      There's 
288 


BARREL  289 

the  question,"  said  Barrel,  his  hand  upon  the 
boy's  arm. 

"  I  believe  it  has,"  said  Trove,  with  a  look 
of  surprise. 

"  It  was  thee  I  thought  of,  boy;  I  had  never 
much  thought  o'  him." 

That  moment  Trove  saw  farther  into  the 
depth  of  Barrel's  heart  than  ever  before.  It 
startled  him.  Surely,  here  was  a  man  that 
passed  all  understanding. 

Barrel  crossed  to  his  bench  and  began  to 
wind  the  clocks. 

"  Ho,  Clocks  !  "  said  he,  thoughtfully.  "  Know 
ye  the  cars  have  come  ?  Now  must  we  look 
well  to  the  long  hand  o'  the  clock.  The  old, 
slow-footed  hour  is  dead,  an'  now,  boy,  the  min 
ute  is  our  king." 

He  came  shortly  and  sat  beside  the  young 
man. 

"  Put  away  thy  unhappiness,"  said  he,  gently, 
patting  the  boy's  hand.  "  No  harm  shall  come 
to  thee —  'tis  only  a  passing  cloud." 

"You're  right,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be  a 
fool,"  said  Trove.  "  It  has  all  brought  me  one 
item  of  good  fortune." 


290  BARREL 

"An' that  is?" 

"  I  have  discovered  who  is  my  father." 

"  An'  know  ye  where  he  is  now  ?  "  the  tinker 
inquired. 

"  No;  but  I  know  it  is  he  to  whom  you  gave 
the  boots  at  Christmas  time." 

"  Hush,  boy,"  said  Barrel,  in  a  whisper,  his 
hand  raised. 

He  crossed  to  the  bench,  returning  quickly 
and  drawing  his  chair  in  front  of  the  young 
man. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  he  whispered,  sitting 
down  and  touching  the  palm  of  his  open  hand 
with  the  index  finger  of  the  other,  "a  youth 
held  in  his  hand  a  cup,  rare  an'  costly,  an'  it 
was  full  o'  happiness,  an'  he  was  tempted  to 
drink.  '  Ho,  there,  me  youth,'  said  one  who 
saw  him,  'that  is  the  happiness  of  another.' 
But  he  tasted  the  cup,  an'  it  was  bitter,  an'  he 
let  it  fall,  an'  the  other  lost  his  great  possession. 
Now  that  bitter  taste  was  ever  on  the  tongue  o' 
the  youth,  so  that  his  own  cup  had  always  the 
flavour  o'  woe." 

The  tinker  paused  a  moment,  looking  sternly 
into  the  face  of  the  young  man. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  291 

"  I  adjure  thee,  boy,  touch  not  the  cup  of 
another's  happiness,  or  it  may  imbitter  thy 
tongue.  But  if  thou  be  foolish  an'  take  it  up, 
mind  ye  do  not  drop  it." 

"I  shall  be  careful —  I  shall  neither  taste  nor 
drop  it,'*  said  Trove. 

"  God  bless  thee,  boy !  thou'rt  come  to  a 
great  law  —  who  drains  the  cup  of  another's 
happiness  shall  find  it  bitter,  but  who  drains  the 
cup  of  another's  bitterness  shall  find  it  sweet." 

A  silence  followed,  in  which  Trove  sat  looking 
at  the  old  man  whose  words  were  like  those  of 
a  prophet.  "  I  have  no  longer  any  right  to  seek 
my  father,"  he  thought.  "  And,  though  I  meet 
him  face  to  face,  I  must  let  him  go  his  way." 

Suddenly  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door,  and 
when  Barrel  opened  it,  they  saw  only  a  letter 
hanging  to  the  latch.  It  contained  these  words, 
but  no  signature  :  — 

"There'll  be  a  bonfire  and  some  fun  to-night 
at  twelve,  in  the  middle  of  Cook's  field.  Messrs. 
Trove  and  Barrel  are  invited." 

"  Curious,"  said  Barrel.  "  It  has  the  look  o' 
mischief." 

"  Oh,  it's  only  the  boys  and  a  bit  of  skylark- 


292  DARREL 

ing,"  said  Trove.  "  Let's  go  and  see  what's 
up  —  it's  near  the  time." 

The  streets  were  dark  and  silent  as  they  left 
the  shop.  They  went  up  a  street  beyond  the 
village  limits  and  looked  off  in  Cook's  field  but 
saw  no  light  there.  While  they  stood  looking  a 
flame  rose  and  spread.  Soon  they  could  see 
figures  in  the  light,  and,  climbing  the  fence, 
they  hastened  across  an  open  pasture.  Coming 
near  they  saw  a  score  of  men  with  masks  upon 
their  faces. 

"  Give  him  the  tar  and  feathers,"  said  a 
strange  voice. 

"  Not  if  he  will  confess  an*  seek  forgiveness," 
another  answered. 

"  Down  to  your  knees,  man,  an'  make  no  out 
cry,  an'  see  you  repeat  the  words  carefully, 
as  I  speak  them,  or  you  go  home  in  tar  and 
feathers." 

They  could  hear  the  sound  of  a  scuffle,  and, 
shortly,  the  phrases  of  a  prayer  spoken  by  one 
voice  and  repeated  by  another. 

They  were  far  back  in  the  gloom,  but  could 
hear  each  word  of  that  which  follows  :  "  O  God, 
forgive  me  —  I  am  a  liar  and  a  hypocrite  —  I 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  293 

have  the  tongue  of  scandal  and  deceit —  I  have 
robbed  the  poor — I  have  defamed  the  good  — 
and,  Lord,  I  am  sick  —  with  the  rottenness  of 
my  own  heart.  And  hereafter  —  I  will  cheat  no 
more  —  and  speak  no  evil  of  any  one  —  Amen." 

"  Now,  go  to  your  home,  Riley  Brooke,"  said 
the  voice,  "an'  hereafter  mind  your  tongue,  or 
you  shall  ride  a  rail  in  tar  and  feathers." 

They  could  see  the  crowd  scatter,  and  some 
passed  near  them,  running  away  in  the  dark 
ness. 

"  Stoop  there  an'  say  not  a  w^ord,"  the  tinker 
whispered,  crouching  in  the  grass. 

When  all  were  out  of  hearing,  they  started  for 
the  little  shop. 

"  Hereafter,"  said  Barrel,  as  they  walked 
along,  "  God  send  he  be  more  careful  with  the 
happiness  of  other  men.  I  do  assure  thee,  boy, 
it  is  bitter,  bitter,  bitter." 


XXVIII 

Darrel  at  Robin  s  Inn 


7* 


ROVE  had  much  to  help  him,  — 
youth,  a  cheerful  temperament, 
a  counsellor  of  unfailing  wis 
dom.  Long  after  they  were 
gone  he  recalled  the  sadness 
and  worry  of  those  days  with  satisfaction,  for, 
thereafter,  the  shock  of  trouble  '  was  never 
able  to  surprise  and  overthrow  him. 

After  due  examination  he  had  been  kept 
in  bail  to  wait  the  action  of  the  grand  jury, 
soon  to  meet.  Now  there  were  none  thought 
him  guilty  —  save  one  or  two  afflicted  with 
the  evil  tongue.  It  seemed  to  him  a  dead  issue 
and  gave  him  no  worry.  One  thing,  however, 
preyed  upon  his  peace,  —  the  knowledge  that 
his  father  was  a  thief.  A  conviction  was  ever 
boring  in  upon  him  that  he  had  no  right  to 
love  Polly.  A  base  injustice  it  would  be,  he 
294 


DARREL  295 

thought,  to  marry  her  without  telling  what  he 
had  no  right  to  tell.  But  he  was  ever  hop 
ing  for  some  word  of  his  father  —  news  that 
might  set  him  free.  He  had  planned  to  visit 
Polly,  and  on  a  certain  day  Barrel  was  to 
meet  him  at  Robin's  Inn.  The  young  man 
waited,  in  some  doubt  of  his  duty,  and  that 
day  came  —  one  of  the  late  summer  —  when 
he  and  Barrel  went  afoot  to  the  Inn,  crossing 
hill  and  valley,  as  the  crow  flies,  stopping 
here  and  there  at  isles  of  shadow  in  a  hot 
amber  sea  of  light.  They  sat  long  to  hear  the 
droning  in  the  stubble  and  let  their  thought 
drift  slowly  as  the  ship  becalmed. 

"Some  days,"  said  Barrel,  "the  soul  in  me 
is  like  a  toy  skiff,  tossing  in  the  ripples  of  a 
duck  pond  an'  mayhap  stranding  on  a  reed 
or  lily.  An'  then,"  he  added,  with  kindling 
eye  and  voice,  "  she  is  a  great  ship,  her  sails 
league  long  an'  high,  her  masthead  raking  the 
stars,  her  hull  in  the  infinite  sea." 

"Well,"  said  Trove,  sighing,  "I'm  still  in 
the  ripples  of  the  duck  pond." 

"An'  see  they  do  not  swamp  thee,"  said 
Barrel,  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Poor 


296  DARREL 

weakling,  your  trouble  is  only  as  the  ripples 
of  a  tiny  pool."  They  went  on  slowly,  over 
green  pastures,  halting  at  a  brook  in  the  woods. 
There,  again,  they  rested  in  a  cool  shade  of 
pines,  Darrel  lighting  his  pipe. 

"I  envy  thee,  boy,"  said  the  tinker,  "enter 
ing  on  thy  life-work  in  this  great  land  —  a 
country  blest  o'  God.  To  thee  all  high  things 
are  possible.  Where  I  was  born,  let  a  poor 
lad  have  great  hope  in  him,  an'  all  —  ay,  all 
—  even  those  he  loved,  rose  up  to  cry  him 
down.  Here  in  this  land  all  cheer  an'  bid 
him  God-speed.  An'  here  is  to  be  the  great 
theatre  o'  the  world's  action.  Many  of  high 
hope  in  the  broad  earth  shall  come,  an'  here 
they  shall  do  their  work.  An'  its  spirit  shall 
spread  like  the  rising  waters,  ay,  it  shall 
flood  the  world,  boy,  it  shall  flood  the  world." 

Trove  made  no  reply,  but  he  thought  much 
and  deeply  of  what  the  tinker  said.  They  lay 
back  a  while  on  the  needle  carpet,  thinking. 
They  could  hear  the  murmur  of  the  brook 
and  a  woodpecker  drumming  on  a  dead  tree. 

"  Me  head  is  busy  as  yon  woodpecker's," 
Darrel  went  on.  "  It's  the  soul  fire  in  this 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  297 

great,  free  garden  o'  God  —  it's  America. 
Have  ye  felt  it,  boy  ? " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  in  your  eyes  and  on  your 
tongue,"  said  Trove. 

"  Ah  boy !  'tis  only  God's  oxygen.  Think 
o'  the  poor  fools  withering  on  cracker  barrels 
in  Hillsborough  an'  wearing  away  'the  lag 
end  o'  their  lewdness.'  I  have  no  patience 
with  the  like  o'  them.  I'd  rather  be  a  butcher's 
clerk  an'  carry  with  me  the  redolence  o'  ham." 

In  Hillsborough,  where  all  spoke  of  him  as 
an  odd  man  of  great  learning,  there  were  none, 
saving  Trove  and  two  or  three  others,  that 
knew  the  tinker  well,  for  he  took  no  part  in 
the  roaring  gossip  of  shop  and  store. 

"  Hath  it  ever  occurred  to  thee,"  said  Bar 
rel,  as  they  walked  along,  "  that  a  fool  is 
blind  to  his  folly,  a  wise  man  to  his  wisdom  ? " 

When  they  were  through  the  edge  of  the 
wilderness  and  came  out  on  Cedar  Hill,  and 
saw,  below  them,  the  great,  round  shadow  of 
Robin's  Inn,  they  began  to  hasten  their  steps. 
They  could  see  Polly  reading  a  book  under 
the  big  tree. 

"What   ho!    the   little  queen,"  said    Barrel, 


298  BARREL 

as  they  came  near.  "  Now,  put  upon  her  brow 
'an  odorous  chaplet  o'  sweet  summer  buds.'  " 

She  came  to  meet  them  in  a  pretty  pink 
dress  and  slippers  and  white  stockings. 

"Fair  lady,  I  bring  thee  flowers,"  said  Dar- 
rel,  handing  her  a  bouquet.  "They  are  from 
the  great  garden  o'  the  fields." 

"And  I  bring  a  crown,"  said  Trove,  as  he 
kissed  her  and  put  a  wreath  of  clover  and 
wild  roses  on  her  brow. 

"I  thought  something  dreadful  had  hap 
pened,"  said  Polly,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"For  three  days  I've  been  dressed  up  wait 
ing." 

"  An'  a  grand  dress  it  is,"  said  Barrel,  sur 
veying  her  pretty  figure. 

"  I've  nearly  worn  it  out  waiting,"  said  she, 
looking  down,  her  voice  trembling. 

"Tut,  tut,  girl  — 'tis  a  lovely  dress,"  the 
tinker  insisted. 

"  It  is  one  my  mother  wore  when  she  was  a 
girl,"  said  Polly,  proudly.  "  It  was  made  over." 

"  O— oh  !  God  love  thee,  child  !  "  said  the 
tinker,  in  a  tone  of  great  admiration.  "  'Tis 
beautiful." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  299 

"  And  you  came  through  the  woods  ? "  said 
Polly. 

"Through  wood  and  field,"  was  Trove's 
answer. 

"  I  wonder  you  knew  the  way." 

"  The  little  god  o'  love  —  he  shot  his  arrows, 
an*  we  followed  them  as  the  hunter  follows  the 
bee,"  said  Barrel. 

"  It  was  nice  of  you  to  bring  the  flowers," 
said  Polly.  "They  are  beautiful." 

"  But  not  like  those  in  thy  cheeks,  dear  child. 
Where  is  the  good  mother  ?  "  said  Barrel. 

"  She  and  the  boys  are  gone  a-berrying,  and 
I  have  been  making  jelly.  We're  going  to  have 
a  party  to-night  for  your  birthday." 

" '  An'  rise  up  before  the  hoary  head  an* 
honour  the  face  o^  the  old  man,'  "  said  Barrel, 
thoughtfully.  "  But,  child,  honour  is  not  for 
them  that  tinker  clocks." 

" '  Honour  and  fame  from  no  condition  rise,'  " 
said  Polly,  who  sat  in  a  chair,  knitting. 

"  True,  dear  girl !  Thy  lips  are  sweeter  than 
the  poet's  thought." 

"  You'll  turn  my  head ; "  the  girl  was  laugh 
ing  as  she  spoke. 


300  DARREL 

"An  it  turn  to  me,  I  shall  be  happy,"  said 
the  tinker,  smiling,  and  then  he  began  to  feel 
the  buttons  on  his  waistcoat.  "  Loves  me,  loves 
me  not,  loves  me,  loves  me  not  —  " 

"  She   loves   you,"  said  Polly,  with  a   smile. 

"She  loves  me,  hear  that,  boy,"  said  the 
tinker.  "  Ah,  were  she  not  bespoke  !  Well, 
God  be  praised,  I'm  happy,"  he  added,  filling 
his  pipe. 

"  And  seventy,"  said  Polly. 

"  Ay,  three  score  an'  ten  —  small  an'  close 
together,  now,  as  I  look  off  at  them,  like  a 
flock  o'  pigeons  in  the  sky." 

"  What  do  you  think  ? "  said  Polly,  as  she 
dropped  her  knitting.  "  The  two  old  maids 
are  coming  to-night." 

"  The  two  old  maids  !  "  said  Barrel ;  "  'tis  a 
sign  an'  a  wonder." 

"Oh,  a  great  change  has  come  over  them," 
Polly  went  on.  "  It's  all  the  work  o'  the 
teacher.  You  know  he  really  coaxed  them 
into  sliding  with  him  last  winter." 

"I  heard  of  it  —  the  gay  Philander!"  said 
Barrel,  laughing  merrily.  "  Ah !  he's  a  won 
der  with  the  maidens !  " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  301 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Polly,  with  a  sigh. 

Trove  was  idly  brushing  the  mat  of  grass 
with  a  walking-stick.  He  loved  fun,  but  he 
had  no  conceit  for  this  kind  of  banter. 

"  It  was  one  of  my  best  accomplishments," 
said  he,  blushing.  "  I  taught  them  that  there 
was  really  a  world  outside  their  house  and  that 
men  were  not  all  as  lions,  seeking  whom  they 
might  devour." 

Soon  the  widow  and  her  boys  came,  their 
pails  full  of  berries. 

"  We  cannot  shake  hands  with  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Vaughn,  her  fingers  red  with  the  berry  stain. 

"Blood  o'  the  old  earth!"  said  Barrel. 
"How  fares  the  clock?" 

"It's  too  slow,  Polly  says." 

"Ah,  time  lags  when  love  is  on  the  way," 
Barrel  answered. 

"  Foolish  child !  A  little  while  ago  she  was 
a  baby,  an'  now  she  is  in  love." 

"  Ah,  let  the  girl  love,"  said  Barrel,  patting 
the  red  cheek  of  Polly,  "an'  bless  God  she 
loves  a  worthy  lad." 

"You'd  better  fix  the  clock,"  said  Polly, 
smiling.  "  It  is  too  fast,  now." 


302  BARREL 

"So  is  the  beat  o'  thy  heart,"  Barrel  an 
swered,  a  merry  look  in  his  eyes,  "  an'  the  clock 
is  keeping  pace." 

Trove  got  up,  with  a  laugh,  and  went  away, 
the  boys  following. 

"  I'm  worried  about  him,"  the  widow  whis 
pered.  "  For  a  long  time  he  hasn't  been 
himself." 

"  It's  the  trouble  —  poor  lad !  'Twill  soon 
be  over,"  said  Barrel,  hopefully. 

There  were  now  tears  in  the  eyes  of  Polly. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  loves  me  any  more,"  said 
she,  her  lips  trembling. 

"  Speak  not  so,  dear  child ;  indeed  he  loves 
thee." 

"  I  have  done  everything  to  please  him,"  said 
Polly,  in  broken  words,  her  face  covered  with 
her  handkerchief. 

"  I  wondered  what  was  the  matter  with  you, 
Polly,"  said  her  mother,  tenderly. 

"  Bear,  dear  child  !  "  said  the  tinker,  rising  and 
patting  her  head.  "The  chaplet  on  thy  brow 
an'  thee  weeping  !  —  fairest  flower  of  all !  " 

"  I  have  wished  that  I  was  dead ;  "  the  words 
came  in  a  little  moan  between  sobs. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  303 

"  Because  Love  hath  led  thee  to  the  great 
river  o'  tears  ?  Nay,  child,  'tis  a  winding  river 
an'  crosses  all  the  roads." 

He  had  taken  her  handkerchief,  and  with  a 
tender  touch  was  drying  her  eyes. 

"  Now  I  can  see  thee  smiling,  an'  thy  lashes, 
child  —  they  are  like  the  spray  o'  the  fern  tip 
when  the  dew  is  on  it." 

Polly  rose  and  went  away  into  the  house. 
Barrel  wiped  his  eyes,  and  the  widow  sat,  her 
chin  upon  her  hand,  looking  down  sadly  and 
thoughtfully.  Barrel  was  first  to  speak. 

"  Bid  it  ever  occur  to  ye,  Martha  Vaughn, 
this  child  o'  thine  is  near  a  woman  but  has  seen 
nothing  o'  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  think  of  that  often,"  said  she,  the  mother's 
feeling  in  her  voice. 

"Well,  if  I  understand  him,  it's  a  point  of 
honour  with  the  boy  not  to  pledge  her  to  mar 
riage  until  she  has  seen  more  o'  life  an'  made 
sure  of  her  own  heart.  Now,  consider  this  :  let 
her  go  to  the  school  at  Hillsborough,  an'  I'll 
pay  the  cost." 

The  widow  looked  up  at  him  without  speaking. 

"I'm  an  old  man  near  the  end  o'  the  journey, 


304  DARREL 

an'  ye've  known  me  many  years,"  Barrel  went 
on.  "There's  nothing  can  be  said  against  it. 
Nay;  I'll  have  no  thanks.  Would  ye  thank 
the  money  itself,  the  bits  o'  paper  ?  No ;  nor 
Roderick  Barrel,  who,  in  this  business,  is  no 
more  worthy  o'  gratitude.  Hush  !  who  comes  ?  " 

It  was  Polly  herself  in  a  short,  red  skirt,  her 
arms  bare  to  the  elbows.  She  began  to  busy 
herself  about  the  house. 

"  Too  bad  you  took  off  that  pretty  dress, 
Polly,"  said  Trove,  when  he  returned. 

She  came  near  and  whispered  to  him. 

"This,"  said  she,  looking  down  sadly,  "is 
like  the  one  I  wore  when  you  first  came." 

"Well,  first  I  thought  of  your  arms,"  said  he, 
"  they  were  so  lovely  !  Then  of  your  eyes  and 
face  and  gown,  but  now  I  think  only  of  the 
one  thing,  —  Polly." 

The  girl  was  happy,  now,  and  went  on  with 
the  work,  singing,  while  Trove  lent  a  hand. 

A  score  of  people  came  up  the  hill  from 
Pleasant  Valley  that  night.  Tunk  went  after 
the  old  maids  and  came  with  them  in  the  chaise 
at  supper  time.  There  were  two  wagon-loads 
of  young  people,  and,  before  dusk,  men  and 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  305 

their  wives    came    sauntering   up   the   roadway 
and  in  at  the  little  gate. 

Two  or  three  of  the  older  men  wore  suits  of 
black  broadcloth,  the  stock  and  rolling  collar  — 
relics  of  "  old  decency "  back  in  Vermont  or 
Massachusetts  or  Connecticut.  Most  were  in 
rough  homespun  over  white  shirts  with  no  cuffs 
or  collar.  All  gathered  about  Barrel,  who  sat 
smoking  outside  the  door.  He  rose  and  greeted 
each  one  of  the  women  with  a  bow  and  a  com 
pliment.  The  tinker  was  a  man  of  unfailing 
courtesy,  and  one  thing  in  him  was  extremely 
odd, —  even  there  in  that  land  of  pure  democ 
racy, —  he  treated  a  scrub-woman  with  the  same 
politeness  he  would  have  accorded  the  finest 
lady.  But  he  was  in  no  sense  a  flatterer ;  none 
that  saw  him  often  were  long  in  ignorance  of 
that.  His  rebuke  was  even  quicker  than  his 
compliment,  as  many  had  reason  to  know.  And 
there  was  another  curious  thing  about  Barrel,  — 
these  people  and  many  more  loved  him,  gather 
ing  about  his  chair  as  he  tinkered,  hearing  with 
delight  the  lore  and  wisdom  of  his  tongue,  but, 
after  all,  there  were  none  that  knew  him  now  any 
better  than  the  first  day  he  came.  A  certain 


306  BARREL 

wall  of  dignity  was  ever  between  him  and 
them. 

Half  an  hour  before  dark,  the  yard  was 
thronged  with  people.  They  listened  with 
smiles  or  a  faint  ripple  of  merry  feeling  as  he 
greeted  each. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Beach,"  he  would  say. 
"  Ah  !  the  snow  is  falling  on  thy  head.  An' 
the  sunlight  upon  thine,  dear  girl,"  he  added, 
taking  the  hand  of  the  woman's  daughter. 

"An'  here's  Mr.  Tilly  back  from  the  far 
west,"  he  continued.  "  How  fare  ye,  sor  ?  " 

"  I'm  well,  but  a  little  too  fat,"  said  Thurston 
Tilly. 

"  Well,  sor,  unless  it  make  thy  heart  heavy, 
be  content. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Hooper,  —  that  is  a  cun 
ning  hand  with  the  pies. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Rood,  may  the  mouse  never  leave 
thy  meal  bag  with  a  tear  in  his  eye. 

"  Not  a  gray  hair  in  thy  head,  Miss  Tower, 
nor  even  a  gray  thought. 

"  An'  here's  Mrs.  Barbour  —  'twill  make  me 
sweat  to  carry  me  pride  now.  How  goes  the 
battle  ? " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  307 

"  The  Lord  has  given  me  sore  affliction," 
said  she. 

"  Nay,  dear  woman,"  said  the  tinker  in  that 
tone  so  kindly  and  resistless,  "  do  not  think  the 
Lord  is  hitting  thee  over  the  ears.  It  is  the 
law  o'  life. 

"  Good  evening,  Elder,  what  is  the  difference 
between  thy  work  an*  mine  ? " 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

"  Ah,  thine  is  the  dial  of  eternity  —  mine  that 
o'  time."  And  so  he  greeted  all  and  sat  down, 
filling  his  pipe. 

"  Now,  Weston,  out  with  the  merry  fiddle," 
said  he,  "an'  see  it  give  us  happy  thoughts." 

A  few  small  boys  were  gathered  about  him, 
and  the  tinker  began  to  hum  an  Irish  reel,  fin 
gers  a^d  forearm  flying  as  he  played  an  imagi 
nary  fiddle.  But,  even  now,  his  dignity  had  not 
left  him.  The  dance  began.  All  were  in  the 
little  house  or  at  the  two  doors,  peering  in,  save 
Barrel,  who  sat  with  his  pipe,  and  Thurston 
Tilly,  who  was  telling  him  tales  of  the  far 
west.  In  the  lull  of  sound  that  followed  the 
first  figure,  Trove  came  to  look  out  upon  them. 
A  big,  golden  moon  had  risen  above  the  woods, 


308  DARREL 

and  the  light  and  music  and  merry  voices  had 
started  a  sleepy  twitter  up  in  the  dome  of  Rob 
in's  Inn. 

"  Do  you  see  that  scar  ? "  he  heard  Tilly  say 
ing. 

"  I  do,  sor." 

"  Well,  a  man  shot  me  there." 

"  An'  what  for  ?  "  the  tinker  inquired. 

"  I  was  telling  him  a  story.  It  cured  me. 
Do  you  carry  a  gun  ? " 

"  I  do  not,  sor." 

"  Wai,  then,  I'll  tell  you  about  the  man  I  work 
for." 

Tunk,  who  had  been  outside  the  door  in  his 
best  clothes,  but  who,  since  he  put  them  on, 
had  looked  as  if  he  doubted  the  integrity  of  his 
suspenders  and  would  not  come  in  the  house, 
began  to  laugh  loudly. 

"  That  man  Tunk  can  see  the  comedy  in  all 
but  himself,"  was  Trove's  thought,  as  he  re 
turned  with  a  smile  of  amusement. 

Soon  Trove  and  Polly  came  out  and  stood 
a  while  by  the  lilac  bush,  at  the  gate. 

"You  worry  me,  Sidney  Trove,"  said  she, 
looking  off  at  the  moonlit  fields. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  309 

Then  came  a  silence  full  of  secret  things,  like 
the  silences  of  their  first  meeting,  there  by  the 
same  gate,  long  ago.  This  one,  however,  had  a 
vibration  that  seemed  to  sting  them. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh. 

Another  silence  in  which  the  heart  of  the 
girl  was  feeling  for  the  secret  in  his. 

"You  are  so  sad,  so  different,"  she  whispered. 

Polly  waited  full  half  a  minute  for  his 
answer.  Then  she  touched  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief,  turned  impatiently,  and  went 
halfway  to  the  door.  Barrel  caught  her  hand, 
drawing  her  near  him. 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,  boy,"  said  he  to  Trove, 
now  on  his  way  to  the  door. 

He  stood  with  his  arms  around  the  two. 

"  Every  shadow  hath  the  wings  o'  light," 
he  whispered.  "  Listen." 

The  house  rang  with  laughter  and  the  music 
of  Money  Musk. 

"  'Tis  the  golden  bell  of  happiness,"  said  he, 
presently.  "  Go  an'  ring  it.  Nay  —  first  a  kiss." 

He  drew  them  close  together,  and  they  kissed 
each  other's  lips,  and  with  smiling  faces  went  in 
to  join  the  dance. 


XXIX 

Again  the   Uphill  Road 


GAIN  the  middle  of  Septem 
ber  and  the  beginning  of  the 
fall  term.  Trove  had  gone  to 
his  old  lodgings  at  Hillsbor- 
ough,  and  Polly  was  boarding 
in  the  village,  for  she,  too,  was  now  in  the  uphill 
road  to  higher  learning.  None,  save  Barrel, 
knew  the  secret  of  the  young  man,  —  that  he 
was  paying  her  board  and  tuition.  The  thought 
of  it  made  him  most  happy ;  but  now,  seeing 
her  every  day  had  given  him  a  keener  sense 
of  that  which  had  come  between  them.  He 
sat  much  in  his  room  and  had  little  heart  for 
study.  It  was  a  cosey  room  now.  His  land 
lady  had  hung  rude  pictures  on  the  wall  and 
given  him  a  rag  carpet.  On  the  table  were 
pieces  of  clear  quartz  and  tourmaline  and, 

about   each   window-frame,   odd   nests   of    bird 
310 


DARREL  311 

or  insect  —  souvenirs  of  wood-life  and  his 
travel  with  the  drove.  There,  too,  on  the 
table  were  mementos  of  that  first  day  of  his 
teaching,  —  the  mirror  spectacles  with  which 
he  had  seen  at  once  every  corner  of  the  school 
room,  the  sling-shot  and  bar  of  iron  he  had 
taken  from  the  woodsman,  Leblanc. 

One  evening  of  his  first  week  at  Hillsborough 
that  term,  Darrel  came  to  sit  with  him  a  while. 

"  An'  what  are  these  ? "  said  the  tinker,  at 
length,  his  hand  upon  the  shot  and  iron. 

"  I    do   not   know." 

"Dear  boy,"  said  Darrel,  "they're  from  the 
kit  of  a  burglar,  an'  how  came  they  here  ? " 

"I  took  them  from  Louis  Leblanc,"  said 
the  young  man,  who  then  told  of  his  adven 
ture  that  night. 

"  Louis  Leblanc  !  "  exclaimed  Darrel.  "  The 
scamp  an'  his  family  have  cleared  out." 

The  tinker  turned  quickly,  his  hand  upon 
the  wrist  of  the  young  man. 

"  These  things  are  not  for  thee  to  have," 
he  whispered.  "  Had  ye  no  thought  o'  the 
danger  ? " 

Trove  began  to  change  colour. 


312  DARREL 

"  I  can  prove  how  I  came  by  them,"  he 
stammered. 

"  What  is  thy  proof  ? "  Barrel  whispered 
again. 

"  There   are    Leblanc's  wife   and  daughter." 

"  Ah,  where  are  they  ?  There  be  many 
would  like  to  know." 

The  young  man  thought  a  moment. 

"Well,Tunk  Hosely,  there  at  Mrs.  Vaughn's." 

"Tunk  Hosely!"  exclaimed  the  tinker,  with 
a  look  that  seemed  to  say,  "  God  save  the 
mark!  An'  would  they  believe  him,  think?" 

Trove  began  to  look  troubled  as  Barrel  left 
him. 

"  I'll  go  and  drop  them  in  the  river,"  said 
Trove  to  himself. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  and  the  street  dark 
and  deserted  as  he  left  his  room. 

"  It  is  a  cowardly  thing  to  do,"  the  young 
man  thought  as  he  walked  slowly,  but  he  could 
devise  no  better  way  to  get  rid  of  them. 

In  the  middle  of  the  big,  open  bridge,  he 
stopped  to  listen.  Hearing  only  the  sound  of 
the  falls  below,  Trove  took  the  odd  tools  from 
under  his  coat  and  flung  them  over  the  rail 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  313 

He  turned  then,  walking  slowly  off  the  bridge 
and  up  the  main  street  of  Hillsborough.  At 
a  corner  he  stopped  to  listen.  His  ear  had 
caught  the  sound  of  steps  far  behind  him. 
He  could  hear  it  no  longer,  and  went  his  way, 
with  a  troubled  feeling  that  robbed  him  of 
rest  that  night.  In  a  day  or  two  it  wore  off, 
and  soon  he  was  hold  of  the  bit,  as  he  was 
wont  to  say,  and  racing  for  the  lead  in  his 
work.  He  often  walked  to  school  with  Polly 
and  went  to  church  with  her  every  Sunday 
night.  There  had  been  not  a  word  of  love 
between  them,  however,  since  they  came  to  the 
village,  until  one  evening  she  said:  — 

"  I  am  very  unhappy,  and  I  wish  I  were 
home." 

"Why?" 

She  was  not  able  to  answer  for  a  moment. 

"  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  you,"  she 
whispered. 

His  lungs  shook  him  with  a  deep  and  trem 
ulous  inspiration.  For  a  little  he  could  not 
answer. 

"  That  is  why  you  do  not  love  me  ? "  she 
whispered  again. 


314  BARREL 

"  I  do  love  you,"  he  said  with  a  strong  effort 
to  control  himself,  "  but  I  am  not  worthy  to 
touch  the  hem  of  your  garment." 

"  Tell  me  why,  Sidney  ?  " 

"  Some  day  —  I  do  not  know  when  —  I  will 
tell  you  all.  And  if  you  can  love  me  after  that, 
we  shall  both  be  happy." 

"  Tell  me  now,"  she  urged. 

11 1  cannot,"  said  he,  "  but  if  you  only  trust 
me,  Polly,  you  shall  know.  If  you  will  not 
trust  me  —  " 

He  paused,  looking  down  at  the  snow  path. 

"  Good  night !  "  he  added  presently. 

They  kissed  and  parted,  each  going  to  the 
company  of  bitter  tears. 

As  of  old,  Trove  had  many  a  friend,  —  school 
fellows  who  came  of  an  evening,  now  and  then, 
for  his  help  in  some  knotty  problem.  All  saw 
a  change  in  him.  He  had  not  the  enthusiasm 
and  good  cheer  of  former  days,  and  some  ceased 
to  visit  him.  Moreover  they  were  free  to  say 
that  Trove  was  getting  a  big  head.  For  one 
thing,  he  had  become  rather  careless  about  his 
clothes,  —  a  new  trait  in  him,  for  he  had  the 
gift  of  pride  and  the  knack  of  neatness. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  315 

A  new  student  sought  his  acquaintance  the 
very  first  week  of  the  term,  —  that  rather  fop 
pish  young  man  who  got  off  the  cars  at  Hills- 
borough  the  day  of  their  first  coming.  He  was 
from  Buffalo,  and,  although  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  was  preparing  to  enter  college.  His  tales 
of  the  big  city  and  his  frank  good-fellowship 
made  him  a  welcome  guest.  Soon  he  was 
known  to  all  as  "Dick"  —  his  name  being 
Richard  Roberts.  It  was  not  long  before  Dick 
knew  everybody  and  everybody  knew  Dick, 
including  Polly,  and  thought  him  a  fine  fellow. 
Soon  Trove  came  to  know  that  when  he  was 
detained  a  little  after  school  Dick  went  home 
with  Polly.  That  gave  him  no  concern,  how 
ever,  until  Dick  ceased  to  visit  him,  and  he  saw 
a  change  in  the  girl. 

One  day,  two  letters  came  for  Trove.  They 
were  in  girlish  penmanship  and  bore  no  signa 
ture,  but  stung  him  to  the  quick. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  get  a  new  hat,"  said  one. 

"You  are  too  handsome  to  neglect  your 
clothes,"  said  the  other. 

As  he  read  them,  his  cheeks  were  burning 
with  his  shame.  He  went  for  his  hat  and 


316  DARREL 

looked  it  over  carefully.  It  was  faded,  and 
there  was  a  little  rent  in  the  crown.  His  boots 
were  tapped  and  mended,  his  trousers  thread 
bare  at  the  knee,  and  there  were  two  patches  on 
his  coat. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh. 
Then  he  went  for  a  talk  with  Barrel. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  more  shabby-looking 
creature  ? "  he  inquired,  as  Barrel  came  to  meet 
him.  "  I  am  so  ashamed  of  myself  I'd  like  to 
go  lie  in  your  wood  box  while  I  talk  to  you." 

"  '  What  hempen  homespun  have  we  swagger 
ing  here  ? '  "  Barrel  quoted  in  a  rallying  voice. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  Trove  began. 

"  Nay,  first  a  roundel,"  said  the  tinker,  as  he 
began  to  shuffle  his  feet  to  the  measure  of  an 
old  fairy  song. 

"  If  one  were  on  his  way  to  the  gallows,  you 
would  make  him  laugh,"  said  Trove,  smiling. 

"  An  I  could,  so  would  I,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  A  smile,  boy,  hath  in  it  '  some  relish  o'  salva 
tion.'  Now,  tell  me,  what  is  thy  trouble  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  leave  school,"  said  Trove. 

"  An'  wherefore  ?  " 

"  I'm  sick  of  this  pinching  poverty.     Look  at 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  317 

my  clothes ;  I  thought  I  could  make  them  do, 
but  I  can't." 

He  put  the  two  notes  in  Barrel's  hand.  The 
tinker  wiped  his  spectacles  and  then  read  them 
both. 

"  Tut,  tut,  boy!"  said  he,  presently,  with  a 
very  grave  look.  "  Have  ye  forgotten  the 
tatters  that  were  as  a  badge  of  honour  an'  suc 
cess  ?  Weeks  ago  I  planned  to  find  thee  better 
garments,  but,  on  me  word,  I  had  no  heart  for 
it.  Nay,  these  old  ones  had  become  dear  to 
me.  I  was  proud  o'  them  —  ay,  boy,  proud  o' 
them.  When  I  saw  the  first  patch  on  thy  coat, 
said  I,  'It  is  the  little  ensign  o'  generosity.' 
Then  came  another,  an',  said  I,  '  That  is  for  hon 
our  an'  true  love,'  an'  these  bare  threads  —  there 
is  no  loom  can  weave  the  like  o'  them.  Nay, 
boy,"  Barrel  added,  lifting  an  arm  of  the  young 
man  and  kissing  one  of  the  patches,  "be  not 
ashamed  o'  these  —  they're  beautiful,  ay,  beauti 
ful.  They  stand  for  the  dollars  ye  gave  Polly." 

Trove  turned  away,  wiping  his  eyes. 

He  looked  down  at  his  coat  and  trousers  and 
began  to  wonder  if  he  were,  indeed,  worthy  to 
wear  them. 


318  BARREL 

"I'm  not  good  enough  for  them,"  said  he, 
"  but  you've  put  new  heart  in  me,  and  I  shall 
not  give  up.  I'll  wear  them  as  long  as  I  can 
make  them  do,  and  girls  can  say  what  they 
please." 

"  The  magpies  !  "  said  Barrel.  "  When  they 
have  a  thought  for  every  word  they  utter,  Lord  ! 
there'll  be  then  a  second  Sabbath  in  the  week." 

Next  evening  Trove  went  to  see  Polly. 

As  he  was  leaving,  she  held  his  hand  in  both 
of  hers  and  looked  down,  blushing  deeply,  as  if 
there  were  something  she  would  say,  had  she 
only  the  courage. 

"  What  is  it,  Polly  ? "  said  he. 

"  Will  you  —  will  you  let  me  buy  you  a  new 
hat  ? "  said  she,  soberly,  and  hesitating  much 
between  words. 

He  thought  a  moment,  biting  his  lip. 

"  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't,  Polly,"  said  he,  look 
ing  down  at  the  faded  hat.  "  I  know  it's  shabby, 
but,  after  all,  I'm  fond  o'  the  old  thing.  I  love 
good  clothes,  but  I  can't  afford  them  now." 

Then  he  bade  her  good  night  and  came  away. 


XXX 


Evidence 


T  was  court  week,  and  the  grand 
jury  was  in  session.  There 
were  many  people  in  the  streets 
of  the  shire  town.  They  moved 
with  a  slow  foot,  some  giving 
their  animation  to  squints  of  curiosity  and 
shouts  of  recognition,  some  to  profanity  and 
plug  tobacco.  Squire  Day  and  Colonel  Judson 
were  to  argue  the  famous  maple-sugar  case, 
and  many  causes  of  local  celebrity  were  on 
the  calendar. 

There  were  men  with  the  watchful  eye  of 
the  hunter,  ever  looking  for  surprises.  They 
moved  with  caution,  for  here,  indeed,  were 
sights  and  perils  greater  than  those  of  the 
timber  land.  Here  were  houses,  merchants, 
lawyers,  horse-jockeys,  whiskey,  women.  They 
knew  the  thickets  and  all  the  wild  creatures 
319 


320  DARREL 

that  lived  in  them,  but  these  things  of  the 
village  were  new  and  strange.  They  came 
out  of  the  stores  and,  after  expectorating, 
stood  a  moment  with  their  hands  in  their 
pockets,  took  a  long  look  to  the  right  and 
a  long  look  to  the  left  and  threw  a  glance 
into  the  sky,  and  then  examined  the  imme 
diate  foreground.  If  satisfied,  they  began  to 
move  slowly  one  way  or  the  other  and,  meet 
ing  hunters  presently,  would  ask :  — 

"  Here  fer  yer  bounties  ?  " 

"  Here  fer  my  bounties,"  another  would  say. 
Then  they  both  took  a  long  look  around  them. 

"  Wish't  I  was  back  t'  the  shanty." 

"  So  do  I." 

"  Scares  me." 

"  Too  many  houses  an'  too  many  women 
folks." 

"  An'  if  ye  wan'  t'  git  a  meal  o'  vittles, 
it  costs  ye  three  mushrats." 

Night  and  morning  the  tavern  offices  were 
full  of  smart-looking  men,  —  lawyers  from  every 
village  in  the  county,  who,  having  dropped  the 
bitter  scorn  of  the  court  room,  now  sat  gos 
siping  in  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  rent  with 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  321 

thunder-peals  of  laughter  and  lightning  flashes 
of  wit.  Teams  of  farmer  folk  filled  the  sheds 
and  were  tied  to  hitching-posts,  up  and  down 
the  main  thoroughfare  of  the  village.  Every 
day  rough-clad,  brawny  men  led  their  little 
sons  to  the  courthouse. 

"  Do  ye  see  that  man  with  the  spectacles 
and  the  bald  head?"  they  had  been  wont 
to  whisper,  when  seated  in  the  court  room, 
"that  air  man  twistin'  his  hair,  —  that's  Silas 
Wright;  an'  that  tall  man  that  jes'  sot  down? 
—  that's  John  L.  Russell.  Now  I  want  ye  t' 
listen,  careful.  Mebbe  ye'll  be  a  lawyer, 
sometime,  yerself,  as  big  as  any  of  'em." 

The  third  day  of  that  week  —  it  was  about 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  —  a  score  of  men, 
gossiping  in  the  lower  hall  of  the  court  build 
ing,  were  hushed  suddenly.  A  young  man 
came  hurrying  down  the  back  stairs  with  a 
look  of  excitement. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  said  one. 

"  Sidney  Trove  is  indicted,"  was  the  answer 
of  the  young  man. 

He  ran  out  of  doors  and  down  the  street. 
People  began  crowding  out  of  the  court  room. 


322  DARREL 

Information,  surprise,  and  conjecture  —  a  kind 
of  flood  pouring  out  of  a  broken  clam  —  rushed 
up  and  down  the  forty  streets  of  the  village. 
Soon,  as  of  old,  many  were  afloat  and  some 
few  were  drowning  in  it.  For  a  little,  busy 
hands  fell  limp  and  feet  grew  slow  and  tongues 
halted.  A  group  of  school-girls  on  their  way 
home  were  suddenly  overtaken  by  the  onrush- 
ing  tide.  They  came  close  together  and  whis 
pered.  Then  a  little  cry  of  despair,  and  one 
of  them  fell  and  was  borne  into  a  near  house. 
A  young  man  ran  up  the  stairway  at  the 
Sign  of  the  Dial  and  rapped  loudly  at  Barrel's 
door.  Trove  and  the  tinker  were  inside. 

"Old  fellow,"  said  the  newcomer,  his  hand 
upon  Trove's  arm,  "  they've  voted  to  indict 
you,  and  I've  seen  all  the  witnesses." 

Trove  had  a  book  in  his  hand.  He  rose 
calmly  and  flung  it  on  the  table. 

"  It's  an  outrage,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Nay,  an  honour,"  said  Barrel,  quickly. 
"Hold  up  thy  head,  boy.  The  laurel  shall 
take  the  place  o'  the  frown." 

He  turned  to  the  bearer  of  these  evil  tidings. 

"  Have  ye  more  knowledge  o'  the  matter  ? " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  323 

"Yes,  all  day  I  have  been  getting  hold  of 
their  evidence,"  said  the  newcomer,  a  law 
student,  who  was  now  facing  his  friend  Trove. 
"  In  the  first  place,  it  was  a  man  of  blue 
eyes  and  about  your  build  who  broke  into 
the  bank  at  Milldam.  It  is  the  sworn  state 
ment  of  the  clerk,  who  has  now  recovered. 
He  does  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  you  are  the 
man,  but  does  say  it  was  a  man  like  you  that 
assaulted  him.  It  appears  the  robber  had  his 
face  covered  with  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief 
in  which  square  holes  were  cut  so  he  could  see 
through.  The  clerk  remembers  it  was  covered 
with  a  little  white  figure  —  that  of  a  log  cabin. 
Such  a  handkerchief  was  sold  years  ago  in  the 
campaign  of  Harrison,  but  has  gone  out  of  use. 
Not  a  store  in  the  county  has  had  them  since 
'45.  The  clerk  fired  upon  him  with  a  pistol, 
and  thinks  he  wounded  him  in  the  left  fore 
arm.  In  their  fight  the  robber  struck  him 
with  a  sling-shot,  and  he  fell,  and  remembers 
nothing  more  until  he  came  to  in  the  dark 
alone.  The  skin  was  cut  in  little  squares, 
where  the  shot  struck  him,  and  that  is  one 
of  the  strong  points  against  you." 


324  BARREL 

"Against  me?"  said  Trove. 

"Yes  —  that  and  another.  It  seems  the 
robber  left  behind  him  one  end  of  a  bar  of 
iron.  The  other  end  of  the  same  bar  and  a 
sling-shot  —  the  very  one  that  probably  felled 
the  clerk  —  have  been  found." 

The  speaker  rose  and  walked  half  across 
the  room  and  back,  looking  down  thought 
fully. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,  old  fellow,"  said  he,  sitting 
down  again,  "  it  is  mighty  strange.  If  I  didn't 
know  you  well,  I'd  think  you  guilty.  Here 
comes  a  detective  who  says  under  oath  that 
one  night  he  saw  you  come  out  of  your 
lodgings,  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  walk  to 
the  middle  of  the  bridge  and  throw  some 
thing  into  the  water.  Next  morning  bar  and 
shot  were  found.  As  nearly  as  he  could  make 
out  they  lay  directly  under  the  place  where  you 
halted." 

Barrel  sat  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  speaker. 

"A  detective?"  said  Trove,  rising  erect,  a 
stern  look  upon  him. 

"Yes  —  Dick  Roberts." 

"Roberts,   a    detective!"   said    Trove,  in    a 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  325 

whisper.  Then  he  turned  to  Barrel,  adding, 
"  I  shall  have  to  find  the  Frenchman." 

"  Louis  Leblanc  ? "  the  young  man  asked. 

"  Louis  Leblanc,"  Trove  answered  with  sur 
prise. 

"  He  has  been  found,"  said  the  other. 

"Then  I  shall  be  able  to  prove  my  point 
He  came  to  his  home  drunk  one  night  and 
began  to  bully  his  family.  I  was  boarding 
with  the  Misses  Tower  and  went  over  and 
took  the  shot  and  iron  from  his  hands  and 
got  him  into  bed.  The  woman  begged  me  to 
bring  them  away." 

"  He  declares  that  he  never  saw  the  shot  or 
the  iron." 

Barrel  rose  and  drew  his  chair  a  bit  nearer. 

"Very  well,  but  there's  the  wife,"  said  he, 
quickly. 

"  She  will  swear ^  too,  that  she  never  saw 
them." 

"And  how  about  the  daughter?"  Trove 
inquired. 

"  Run  away  and  nowhere  to  be  found,"  was 
the  answer  of  the  other  young  man.  "  I've 
told  you  bad  news  enough,  but  there's  more, 


326  BARREL 

and  you  ought  to  know  it  all.  Louis  Leblanc 
is  in  Quebec,  and  he  says  that  a  clock  tinker 
lent  him  money  with  which  to  leave  the  States." 

"  It  was  I,  an'  God  bring  him  to  repentance  — 
the  poor  beggar !  "  said  Barrel.  "He  agreed 
to  repay  me  within  a  fortnight  an'  was  in  sore 
distress,  but  he  ran  away,  an'  I  got  no  word  o' 
him." 

"Well,  the  inference  is,  that  you,  being  a 
friend  of  the  accused,  were  trying  to  help 
him." 

"I'm  caught  in  a  web,"  said  Trove,  leaning 
forward,  his  head  upon  his  hands,  "  and  Le- 
blanc's  wife  is  the  spider.  How  about  the 
money  ?  Have  they  been  able  to  identify  it  ? " 

"  In  part,  yes ;  there's  one  bill  that  puzzles 
them.  It's  that  of  an  old  bank  in  New  York 
City  that  failed  years  ago  and  went  out  of 
business." 

Then  a  moment  of  silence  and  that  sound  of 
the  clocks  —  like  footsteps  of  a  passing  caravan, 
some  slow  and  heavy,  some  quick,  as  if  impa 
tient  to  be  gone. 

"Ye  speeding  seconds!"  said  Barrel,  as  he 
crossed  to  the  bench.  "  Still  thy  noisy  feet." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  327 

Then  he  walked  up  and  down,  thinking. 

The  friend  of  Sidney  Trove  put  on  his  hat 
and  stood  by  the  door. 

"Don't  forget,"  said  he,  "you  have  many 
friends,  or  I  should  not  be  able  to  tell  you 
these  things.  Keep  them  to  yourself  and  go 
to  work.  Of  course  you  will  be  able  to  prove 
your  innocence." 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Trove. 

"Ay,  'twas  friendly,"  the  old  man  remarked, 
taking  the  boy's  hand. 

"  I  have  to  put  my  trust  in  Tunk  —  the  poor 
liar !  "  said  Trove,  when  they  were  alone. 

"  No,"  Barrel  answered  quickly.  "  Were  ye 
drowning,  ye  might  as  well  lay  hold  of  a  straw. 
Trust  in  thy  honour;  it  is  enough." 

"  Let's  go  and  see  Polly,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"  Ay,  she  o'  the  sweet  heart,"  said  the  tinker ; 
"  we'll  go  at  once." 

They  left  the  shop,  and  on  every  street  they 
travelled  there  were  groups  of  men  gossiping. 
Some  nodded,  others  turned  away,  as  the  two 
passed.  Dick  Roberts  met  them  at  the  door  of 
the  house  where  Polly  boarded. 


328  DARREL 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Vaughn,"  said  Trove, 
coolly. 

"  She  is  ill,"  said  Roberts. 

"  Could  I  not  see  her  for  a  moment  ?  "  Trove 
inquired. 

"No." 

"  Is  she  very  sick  ? " 

"Very." 

Barrel  came  close  to  Roberts.  He  looked 
sternly  at  the  young  man. 

"Boy,"  said  he,  with  great  dignity,  his  long 
forefinger  raised,  "  within  a  day  ye  shall  be 
clothed  with  shame." 

"They  were  strange  words,"  Trove  thought, 
as  they  walked  away  in  silence ;  and  when  they 
had  come  to  the  little  shop  it  was  growing  dusk. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  bring  this  upon  me 
and  my  friends  ? "  said  Trove,  sinking  into  a 
chair. 

"  It  is  what  I  have  done,"  said  Barrel ;  "  an' 
now  I  take  the  mantle  o'  thy  shame.  Rise, 
boy,  an*  hold  up  thy  head." 

The  old  man  stood  erect  by  the  side  of  the 
young  man. 

"  See,  I  am  as  tall  an'  broad  as  thou  art." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  329 

He  went  to  an  old  chest  and  got  a  cap  and 
drew  it  down  upon  his  head,  pushing  his  gray 
hair  under  it.  Then  he  took  from  his  pocket 
a  red  bandanna  handkerchief,  figured  with  a 
cabin,  tying  it  over  his  face.  He  turned, 
looking  at  Trove  through  two  square  holes  in 
the  handkerchief. 

"  Behold  the  robber  !  "  said  he. 

"  You  know  who  is  the  robber  ? "  Trove  in 
quired. 

Barrel  raised  the  handkerchief  and  flung  it 
back  upon  his  head. 

"  Tis  Roderick  Barrel,"  said  he,  his  hand 
now  on  the  shoulder  of  the  young  man. 

For  a  moment  both  stood  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

"  What  joke  is  this,  my  friend  ?  "  Trove  whis 
pered. 

"  I  speak  not  lightly,  boy.  If  where  ye 
thought  were  honour  an'  good  faith,  there  be 
only  guilt  an'  shame,  can  ye  believe  in  good 
ness  ?  " 

For  his  answer  there  were  silence  and  the 
ticking  of  the  clocks. 

"  Surely  ye  can  an'  will,"  said  the  old  man, 


330  DARREL 

"for  there  is  the  goodness  o'  thy  own  heart. 
Ah,  boy,  though  I  have  it  not,  remember  that 
I  loved  honour  an'  have  sought  to  fill  thee  with 
it.  This  night  I  go  where  ye  cannot  follow." 

The  tinker  turned,  halting  a  pendulum. 

Trove  groaned  as  he  spoke,  "  O  man,  tell 
me,  quickly,  what  do  you  mean  ? " 

"That  God  hath  laid  his  hand  upon  me,"  said 
Barrel,  sternly.  "  I  cannot  see  thee  suffer,  boy, 
when  I  am  the  guilty  one.  O  Redeemer  o'  the 
world  !  haste  me,  haste  me  now  to  punishment." 

The  young  man  staggered,  like  one  dazed  by 
the  shock  of  a  blow,  stepped  backward,  and 
partly  fell  on  a  lounge  against  the  wall.  Bar 
rel  came  and  bent  over  him.  Trove  sat  leaning, 
his  hand  on  the  lounge,  staring  up  at  the  tinker, 
his  eyes  dreadful  and  amazed. 

"  You,  you  will  confess  and  go  to  prison ! " 
he  whispered. 

"  Fair  soul !  "  said  the  old  man,  stroking  the 
boy's  head,  "think  not  o'  me.  Where  I  go 
there  be  flowers  —  lovely  flowers  !  an'  music, 
an'  the  bards  an'  prophets.  Though  I  go  to 
punishment,  still  am  I  in  the  Blessed  Isles." 

"  You  are  doing  it  to  save  me,"  Trove  whis- 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  331 

pered,  taking  the  hand  of  the  old  man.  "  I'll 
not  permit  it.  I'll  go  to  prison  first." 

"  Am  I  so  great  a  fool,  think  ye,  as  to  claim 
an  evil  that  is  not  mine  ?  An'  would  ye  keep 
in  me  the  burning  o'  remorse  when  I  seek  to 
quench  it  ?  I  warn  thee,  meddle  not  with  the 
business  o'  me  soul.  That  is  between  the  great 
God  an'  me." 

Barrel  stood  to  his  full  height,  the  red  hand 
kerchief  covering  his  head  and  falling  on  his 
back.  He  began  with  a  tone  of  contempt  that 
changed  quickly  into  one  of  sharp  command. 
There  was  a  little  silence  and  then  a  quick  rap. 

"  Come  in,"  Barrel  shouted,  as  he  let  the 
handkerchief  fall  upon  his  face  again. 

The  district  attorney,  a  constable,  and  the 
bank  clerk,  who  had  been  injured  the  night  of 
the  robbery,  came  in. 

"  He  is  not  guilty,"  said  Trove,  rising  quickly. 

"  I  command  ye,  boy,  be  silent,"  said  Barrel, 
sternly. 

"  Have  ye  ever  seen  that  hand,"  he  added,  ap 
proaching  the  clerk,  and  pointing  at  a  red  mark 
as  large  as  a  dime  on  the  back  of  his  left  hand. 

"Yes,"    the   clerk   answered    with    surprise, 


332 


BARREL 


looking  from  hand  to  handkerchief.  Then, 
turning  to  the  lawyer,  he  added,  "This  is  the 
man." 

"  Now,"  Barrel  continued,  rolling  up  his 
sleeve,  "  I'll  show  where  thy  bullet  struck  me 
in  the  left  arm.  See,  there  it  seared  the  flesh  !  " 

They  saw  a  scar,  quite  an  inch  long,  midway 
from  hand  to  elbow. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  guilty  of 
this  crime  ?  "  the  attorney  asked. 

"  I  am  guilty  and  ready  for  punishment," 
Barrel  answered.  "Now,  discharge  the  boy." 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  attorney.  "That  is 
for  the  court  to  do." 

Barrel  went  to  Trove,  who  now  sat  weeping, 
his  face  upon  his  hands. 

"  Oh  the  great  river  o'  tears  !  "  said  Barrel, 
touching  the  boy's  head.  "  Beyond  it  are  the 
green  shores  of  happiness,  an'  I  have  crossed, 
an'  soon  shalt  thou.  Stop,  boy,  it  ill  becomes 
thee.  There  is  a  dear,  dear  child  whose  heart 
is  breaking.  Go  an'  comfort  her." 

Trove  sat  as  if  he  had  not  heard.  The  tinker 
went  to  his  table  and  hurriedly  wrote  a  line  or 
two,  folding  and  directing  it. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  333 

"  Go  quickly,  boy,  an'  tell  her,  an'  then  take 
this  to  Riley  Brooke  for  me." 

The  young  man  struggled  a  moment  for  self- 
mastery,  rose  with  a  sigh  and  a  stern  look,  and 
put  on  his  hat. 

"  It  is  about  bail?"  said  he,  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,"  Barrel  answered. 

Trove  hurried  away.  A  woman  met  him  at 
the  door,  within  which  Polly  boarded. 

"  Is  she  better?  "  Trove  asked. 

"  Yes ;  but  has  asked  me  to  say  that  she 
does  not  wish  to  see  you." 

Trove  stood  a  moment,  his  tongue  halting 
between  anger  and  surprise.  He  turned  with 
out  a  word,  walking  away,  a  bitter  feeling  in  his 
heart. 

Brooke  greeted  him  with  unexpected  hearti 
ness.  He  was  going  to  bed  when  the  young 
man  rapped  upon  his  door. 

Brooke  opened  the  letter  and  read  the  words 
aloud  :  "  Thanks,  I  shall  not  need  thy  help." 

"  What !  "  Trove  exclaimed. 

"  He  says  he  shall  not  need  the  help  I  offered 
him,"  Brooke  answered. 

"  Good   night ! "    said    Trove,    who,    turning, 


334  BARREL 

left  the  house  and  hurried  away.  Lights  were 
out  everywhere  in  the  village  now.  The 
windows  were  dark  at  the  Sign  of  the  Dial. 
He  hurried  up  the  old  stairs  and  rapped  loudly, 
but  none  came  to  admit  him.  He  called  and 
listened ;  within  there  were  only  silence  and 
that  old,  familiar  sound  of  the  seconds  trooping 
by,  some  with  short  and  some  with  long  steps. 
He  knew  that  soon  they  were  to  grow  faint  and 
weary  and  pass  no  more  that  way.  He  ran  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  stood  a  moment  hesitat 
ing.  Then  he  walked  slowly  to  the  county  jail 
and  looked  up  at  the  dark  and  silent  building. 
For  a  little  time  he  leaned  upon  a  fence,  there 
in  the  still  night,  shaken  with  sobs.  Then  he 
began  walking  up  and  down  by  the  jail  yard. 
He  had  not  slept  an  hour  in  weeks  and  was 
weary,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  come  away  and 
walked  slower  as  the  night  wore  on,  hearing 
only  the  tread  of  his  own  feet.  He  knew  not 
where  to  go  and  was  drifting  up  and  down,  like 
a  derelict  in  the  sea.  By  and  by  people  began 
to  pass  him,  —  weary  crowds,  —  and  they  were 
pointing  at  the  patches  on  his  coat,  and  beneath 
them  he  could  feel  a  kind  of  burning,  but  the 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  335 

crowd  was  dumb.  He  tried  to  say,  "  I  am  not 
to  blame,"  but  his  heart  smote  him  when  it  was 
half  said.  Then,  suddenly,  many  people  were 
beside  him,  and  far  ahead  on  a  steep  hill,  in  dim, 
gray  light,  he  could  see  Barrel  toiling  upward. 
And  sometimes  the  tinker  turned,  beckoning  him 
to  follow.  And  Trove  ran,  but  the  way  was 
long  between  them.  And  the  tinker  called  to 
him  \  "  Who  drains  the  cup  of  another's  bitter 
ness  shall  find  it  sweet."  Quickly  he  was  alone, 
groping  for  his  path  in  black  darkness  and  pres 
ently  coming  down  a  stairway  into  the  moonlit 
chamber  of  his  inheritance.  Then  the  men  of 
the  dark  and  a  feeling  of  faintness  and  great 
surprise  and  a  broad,  blue  field  all  about  him  and 
woods  in  the  distance,  and  above  the  growing 
light  of  dawn.  His  bones  were  aching  with 
illness  and  overwork,  his  feet  sore.  "  I  have 
been  asleep,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes,  "and 
all  night  I  have  been  walking." 

He  was  in  the  middle  of  a  broad  field.  He 
went  on  slowly  and  soon  fell  of  weakness  and 
lay  for  a  time  with  his  eyes  closed.  He  could 
hear  the  dull  thunder  of  approaching  hoofs ; 
then  he  felt  a  silky  muzzle  touching  his  cheek 


336  BARREL 

and  the  tickle  of  a  horse's  mane.  He  looked 
up  at  the  animal,  feeling  her  face  and  neck. 
"  You  feel  like  Phyllis,  but  you  are  not  Phyllis 
.  —  you  are  all  white,"  said  the  young  man,  as 
he  patted  her  muzzle.  He  could  hear  other 
horses  coming,  and  quickly  she,  that  was  bend 
ing  over  him,  reared  with  an  open  mouth  and 
drove  them  away.  She  returned  again,  her 
long  mane  falling  on  his  face.  "  Don't  step  on 
me,"  he  entreated.  "  '  Remember  in  the  day  o' 
judgment  God'll  mind  the  look  o'  yer  master.' " 
He  took  hold  of  those  long,  soft  threads,  and 
the  horse  lifted  him  gently  to  his  feet,  and 
they  walked,  his  arm  about  her  neck,  his  face  in 
the  ravelled  silk  of  her  mane.  "  I  don't  know 
whose  horse  you  are,  even,  or  where  you  are 
taking  me,"  he  said.  They  went  down  a  long 
lane  and  came  at  length  to  a  bar-way,  and 
Trove  crawled  through. 

He  saw  near  him  a  great  white  house  —  one 
he  had  never  seen  before  —  and  a  beautiful  lady 
in  the  doorway.  He  turned  toward  her,  and  it 
seemed  a  long  journey  to  the  door,  although  he 
knew  it  was  only  a  few  paces.  He  fell  heavily 
on  the  steps,  and  the  woman  gave  a  little  cry  of 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  337 

alarm.  She  came  quickly  and  bent  over  him. 
His  clothes  were  torn,  his  face  pale  and  hag 
gard,  his  eyes  closed. 

"  I  am  sick,"  he  whispered  faintly. 

"  Theron  !  Theron  !  come  here  !  Sidney  is 
sick,"  he  heard  her  calling. 

"  Is  it  you,  mother  ? "  the  boy  whispered, 
feeling  her  face.  "  I  thought  it  was  a  great, 
white  mansion  here,  and  that  you  —  that  you 
were  an  angel." 


XXXI 

A  Man  Greater  than  his   Trouble 


F 


OR  a  month  the  young  man 
lay  burning  with  fever,  his 
brain  boiled  in  hot  blood  until 
things  hideous  and  terrible  were 
swarming  out  of  it,  as  if  it  were 
being  baned  of  dragons.  Two  months  had 
passed  before  he  was  able  to  leave  his  bed. 
He  remembered  only  the  glow  of  an  Indian 
summer  morning  on  wood  and  field,  but  when  he 
rose  they  were  all  white  with  snow.  For  weeks 
he  had  listened  to  the  howl  of  the  fir  trees  and 
had  seen  the  frost  gathering  on  his  window, 
but  knew  not  how  swiftly  the  days  had  gone, 
so  that  when  he  looked  out  of  doors  and  saw 
the  midwinter  he  was  filled  with  astonish 
ment. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  he. 
338 


DARREL  339 

"  Not  yet,  my  boy,"  said  Mary  Allen.  "  You 
are  not  strong  enough." 

"  Barrel  has  taken  my  trouble  on  him,  and 
I  must  go." 

"  I  have  heard  you  say  it  often  since  you 
fell  on  the  doorstep,"  said  she,  stroking  his 
hand.  "  There  is  a  letter  from  him  ;  "  and  she 
brought  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  hands. 
Trove  opened  it  eagerly  and  read  as  follows :  — 

"  DEAR  SIDNEY  :  It  is  Sunday  night  and 
all  day  I  have  been  walking  in  the  Blessed 
Isles.  And  one  was  the  Blessed  Isle  of 
remembrance  where  I  met  thee  and  we 
talked  of  all  good  things.  If  I  knew  it 
were  well  with  thee  I  should  be  quite 
happy,  boy,  quite  happy.  I  was  a  bit 
weary  of  travel  and  all  the  roads  had 
grown  long.  I  miss  the  tick  of  the  clocks, 
but  my  work  is  easy  and  I  have  excellent 
good  friends.  I  send  thee  my  key.  Please 
deliver  the  red,  tall  clock  to  Betsy  Hale, 
who  lives  on  the  road  to  Waterbury  Hill, 
and  kindly  take  that  cheerful  youngster 
from  Connecticut  —  the  one  with  the  wal 
nut  case  and  a  brass  pendulum — to  Mrs. 
Henry  Watson.  You  remember  that  ill- 
tempered  Dutch  thing,  with  a  loud  gong 


340  BARREL 

and  a  white  dial,  please  take  that  to  Harry 
Warner.  I  put  some  work  on  them  all 
but  there's  no  charge.  The  other  clocks 
belong  to  me.  Do  with  them  as  thou 
wilt  and  with  all  that  is  mine.  The  rent 
is  paid  to  April.  Then  kindly  surrender 
the  key.  Now  can  ye  do  all  this  for 
a  man  suffering  the  just  punishment  of 
many  sins  ?  I  ask  it  for  old  friendship 
and  to  increase  the  charity  I  saw  growing 
in  thy  heart  long  ago.  At  last  I  have 
word  of  thy  father.  He  died  a  peaceful, 
happy  death,  having  restored  the  wealth 
that  cursed  him  to  its  owner.  For  his 
sake  an'  thine  I  am  glad  to  know  it. 
Now  between  thee  and  the  dear  Polly 
there  is  no  shadow.  Tell  her  everything. 
May  the  good  God  bless  and  keep  thee; 
but  the  long  road  of  Happiness,  that  ye 
must  seek  and  find. 

"  Yours  truly, 
"  R.  BARREL  of  the  Blessed  Isles." 

Trove  read  the  letter  many  times,  and,  as 
he  grew  strong,  he  began  to  think  with  clear 
ness  and  deliberation  of  his  last  night  in  Hills- 
borough.  Barrel  was  the  greatest  problem  of 
all.  Pondering  he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw, 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  341 

the  bottom  of  it.  Events  were  coming,  how 
ever,  that  robbed  him  utterly  of  his  conceit 
and  all  the  hope  it  gave  him.  The  sad  lines 
about  his  father  kept  him  ever  in  some  doubt. 
A  week  more,  and  he  was  in  the  cutter  one 
morning,  behind  Phyllis,  on  his  way  to  Robin's 
Inn.  As  he  drew  up  at  the  old,  familiar  gate 
the  boys  ran  out  to  meet  him.  Somehow  they 
were  not  the  same  boys  —  they  were  a  bit 
more  sober  and  timid.  Tunk  came  with  a 
"Glad  to  see  ye,  mister,"  and  took  the  mare. 
The  widow  stood  in  the  doorway,  smiling  sadly. 

"  How  is  Polly  ?  "  said  Trove. 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  answer.  He 
walked  slowly  to  the  steps,  knowing  well  that 
some  new  blow  was  about  to  fall  upon  him. 

"  She  is  better,  but  has  been  very  sick,"  said 
the  widow. 

Trove  sat  down  without  speaking  and  threw 
his  coat  open. 

il  You,  too,  have  been  very  sick,"  said  Mrs. 
Vaughn. 

"  Yes,  very,"  said  he. 

"  I  heard  of  it  and  went  to  your  home  one 
day,  but  you  didn't  know  me." 


342  DARREL 

"  Tell  me,  where  is  Polly  ?  " 

"  In  school,  and  I  am  much  worried." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  she's  pretty,  and  the  young  men  will 
not  let  her  alone.  There's  one  determined  she 
shall  marry  him." 

"  Is  she  engaged  ?  " 

"No,  but  —  but,  sir,  I  think  she  is  nearly 
heartbroken." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Trove.  "  Not  that  she 
may  choose  another,  but  that  she  lost  faith 
in  me." 

"  Poor  child !  Long  ago  she  thought  you 
had  ceased  to  love  her,"  said  the  widow,  her 
voice  trembling. 

"  I  loved  her  as  I  can  never  love  again," 
said  he,  his  elbow  resting  on  a  table,  his 
head  leaning  on  his  hand.  He  spoke  calmly. 

"  Don't  let  it  kill  you,  boy,"  said  she. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  A  man  must  be 
greater  than  his  trouble  ;  I  have  work  to  do,  and 
I  shall  not  give  up.  May  I  go  and  see  Polly  ?  " 

"  Not  now,"  said  the  widow,  "  give  her  time 
to  find  her  own  way.  If  you  deserve  her  love 
it  will  return  to  you." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  343 

"  I  fear  that  you,  too,  have  lost  faith  in  me," 
said  Trove. 

"No,"  she  answered,  "  but  surely  Barrel  is 
not  the  guilty  one.  It's  all  such  a  mystery." 

"Mrs.  Vaughn,  do  not  suffer  yourself  to  think 
evil  of  me  or  of  Barrel.  If  I  do  lose  your 
daughter,  I  hope  I  may  not  lose  your  good 
opinion."  The  young  man  spoke  earnestly  and 
his  eyes  were  wet. 

"I  shall  not  think  evil  of  you,"  said  the  woman. 

Trove  stood  a  moment,  his  hand  upon  the  latch. 

"  If  there's  anything  I  can  do  for  you  or  for 
Polly,"  said  he,  "  I  should  like  to  know  it. 
Let's  hope  for  the  best.  Some  day  you  must  let 
me  come  and  — "  he  hesitated,  his  voice  failing 
him  for  a  moment,  "  and  play  a  game  of  check 
ers,"  he  added. 

Paul  stood  looking  up  at  him  sadly,  his  face 
troubled. 

"  It's  an  evil  day  when  the  heart  of  a  child 
is  heavy,"  said  Trove,  bending  over  the  boy. 
"What  is  the  first  law,  Paul?" 

"Thou  shalt  learn  to  obey,"  said  the  boy, 
quickly. 

"  And  who  is  the  great  master  ? " 


344  BARREL 

"Yourself." 

"  Right,  boy !  Let's  command  our  hearts  to 
be  happy." 

The  great,  bare  maple  was  harping  dolefully 
in  the  wind.  Trove  went  for  the  mare,  and 
Tunk  rode  down  the  hill  with  him  in  the  cutter. 

"Things  here  ain't  what  they  used  t'  be," 
said  Tunk. 

"No?" 

"  Widder,  she  takes  on  awful.  Great 
changes ! " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  I  ain't  the  same  dum  fool  I  used  t'  be," 
Tunk  added  presently. 

"What's  happened  to  you?" 

"Well,  they  tol'  me  what  you  said  about 
lyin'.  Ye  know  a  man  in  the  hoss  business 
is  apt  t'  git  a  leetle  careless,  but  I  ain't  no 
such  dum  fool  as  I  used  t'  be.  Have  you 
heard  that  Teesey  Tower  was  married  ? " 

"The  old  maid?" 

"Yes,  sir;  the  ol'  maid,  to  Deacon  Raskins, 
an'  he  lives  with  'em,  an'  now  they're  jes  like 
other  folks.  Never  was  so  surprised  since  I 
was  first  kicked  by  a  hoss." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  345 

Tunk's  conscience  revived  suddenly  and 
seemed  to  put  its  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Joe  Beach  is  goin'  to  be  a  doctor,"  Tunk 
went  on  presently. 

"  I  advised  him  to  study  medicine,"  Trove 
answered. 

"  He's  gone  off  t'  school  at  Milldam  an'  is 
workin'  like  a  beaver.  He  was  purty  ram 
bunctious  'til  you  broke  him  to  lead." 

They  rode  then  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  in 
silence. 

"  Seems  so  everything  was  changed,"  Tunk 
added  as  he  left  the  cutter.  "  Ez  Tower  has 
crossed  the  Fadden  bridge.  Team  run  away 
an'  snaked  him  over.  They  say  he  don't  speak 
to  his  bosses  now." 

Trove  went  on  thoughtfully.  Some  of  Tunk 
Hosely's  talk  had  been  as  bread  for  his 
hunger,  as  a  harvest,  indeed,  giving  both  seed 
and  sustenance.  More  clearly  than  ever  he 
saw  before  him  the  great  field  of  life  where 
was  work  and  the  joy  of  doing  it.  For  a 
time  he  would  be  a  teacher,  but  first  there 
were  other  things  to  do. 


XXXII 

The  Return  of  T hurst  Tilly 


r 


ROVE  sat  in  council  with 
Mary  and  Theron  Allen.  He 
was  now  in  debt  to  the  doc 
tor  ;  he  needed  money,  also, 
for  clothing  and  boots  and  an 
enterprise  all  had  been  discussing. 

"  I'll  give  you  three  hundred  dollars  for  the 
mare,"  said  Allen. 

Trove   sat   in   thoughtful   silence,  and,   pres 
ently,  Allen  went  out   of   doors.     The  woman 
got  her  savings  and  brought  them  to  her  son. 
"  There    is   twenty-three   dollars,  an'  it  may 
help  you,"  she  whispered. 

"No,  mother;  I  can't  take  it,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  I  owe  you  more  now  than  I 
can  ever  pay.  I  shall  have  to  sell  the  mare. 
It's  a  great  trial  to  me,  but  —  but  I  suppose 
honour  is  better  than  horses." 
346 


BARREL  347 

"  Well,  I've  a  surprise  for  you,"  said  she, 
bringing  a  roll  of  cloth  from  the  bedroom. 
"  Those  two  old  maids  spun  the  wool,  and  I 
wove  it,  and,  see,  it's  all  been  fulled." 

"  You're  as  good  as  gold,  mother,  and  so 
are  they.  It's  grand  to  wear  in  the  country, 
but  I'm  going  away  and  ought  to  have  an 
extra  good  suit.  I'd  like  to  look  as  fine  as 
any  of  the  village  boys,  and  they  don't  wear 
homespun.  But  I'll  have  plenty  of  use  for  it." 

Next  day  he  walked  to  Jericho  Mills  and 
paid  the  doctor.  He  went  on  to  Milldam, 
buying  there  a  handsome  new  outfit  of  cloth 
ing.  Then  he  called  to  see  the  President  of 
the  bank  —  that  one  which  had  set  the  dogs 
of  the  law  on  him. 

"You  know  I  put  three  thousand  dollars  in 
the  bank  of  Hillsborough,"  said  Trove,  when 
he  sat  facing  the  official.  "  I  took  the  money 
there,  believing  it  to  be  mine.  If,  however,  it 
is  yours,  I  wish  to  turn  it  over  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  our  money,"  said  the  President. 
"  That  bundle  was  sent  here,  and  we  investi 
gated  every  bill  —  a  great  task,  for  there  were 
some  three  hundred  of  them.  Many  are  old 


348  BARREL 

bills  and  two  the  issue  of  banks  gone  out  of 
business.  It's  all  a  very  curious  problem.  They 
would  not  have  received  this  money,  but  they 
knew  of  the  robbery  and  suspected  you  at  once. 
Now  we  believe  absolutely  in  your  honour." 

"I  shall  put  that  beyond  all  question,"  said 
Trove,  rising. 

He  took  the  cars  to  Hillsborough.  There 
he  went  to  the  Sign  of  the  Dial  and  built  a 
fire  in  its  old  stove.  The  clocks  were  now 
hushed.  He  found  those  Barrel  had  written 
of  and  delivered  them.  Returning,  he  began 
to  wind  the  cherished  clocks  of  the  tinker  — 
old  ones  he  had  gathered  here  and  there  in 
his  wandering — and  to  start  their  pendulums. 
One  of  them  —  a  tall  clock  in  the  corner  with 
a  calendar-dial  —  had  this  legend  on  the  inner 
side  of  its  door :  — 

"  Halted  in  memory  of  a  good  man, 
Its  hands  pointing  to  the  moment  of  his  death, 
Its  voice  hushed  in  his  honour.1' 

Trove  shut  the  door  of  the  old  clock  and 
hurried  to  the  public  attorney's  office,  where  he 
got  the  address  of  Leblanc.  He  met  many 
who  shook  his  hand  warmly  and  gave  him  a 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  349 

pleasant  word.  He  was  in  great  fear  of  meet 
ing  Polly,  and  thought  of  what  he  should  do 
and  say  if  he  came  face  to  face  with  her. 
Among  others  he  met  the  school  principal. 

"  Coming  back  to  work  ?  "  the  latter  inquired. 

"  No,  sir  ;  I've  got  to  earn  money." 

"  We  need  another  teacher,  and  I'll  recom 
mend  you." 

"  I'm  much  obliged,  but  I  couldn't  come  be 
fore  the  fall  term,"  said  Trove. 

"  I'll  try  to  keep  the  place  for  you,"  said  his 
friend,  as  they  parted. 

Trove  came  slowly  down  the  street,  thinking 
how  happy  he  could  be  now,  if  Barrel  were 
free  and  Polly  had  only  trusted  him.  Near  the 
Sign  of  the  Dial  he  met  Thurston  Tilly. 

"  Back  again  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 

"  Back  again.     Boss  gi'n  up  farmin'." 

"  Did  he  make  his  fortune  ?  " 

"  No,  he  had  one  give  to  him." 

"  Come  and  tell  me  about  it." 

Tilly  followed  Trove  up  the  old  stairway 
into  the  little  shop. 

"Beg  yer  pardon,"  said  Thurst,  turning,  as 
they  sat  down,  "  are  you  armed  ? " 


350  BARREL 

"  No,"  said  Trove,  smiling. 

"  A  man  shot  me  once  when  I  wan't  doin' 
nothin'  but  tryin'  t'  tell  a  story,  an'  I  don't  take 
no  chances.  Do  you  remember  my  boss  tellin' 
that  night  in  the  woods  how  he  lost  his  money 
in  the  fire  o'  '35?" 

"Yes." 

"Wai,  I  guess  it  had  suthin'  t'  do  with  that. 
One  day  the  boss  an'  me  was  out  in  the  door- 
yard,  an'  a  stranger  come  along.  '  You're  John 
Thompson,'  says  he  to  the  boss ;  '  An'  you're  so 
an'  so,'  says  the  boss.  I  don't  eggzac'ly  re 
member  the  name  he  give."  Tilly  stopped  to 
think. 

"  Can  you  describe  him  ?  "  Trove  inquired. 

"  He  was  a  big  man  with  white  whiskers  an' 
hair,  an'  he  wore  light  breeches  an'  a  short,  blue 
coat." 

"  Again  the  friend  of  Barrel,"  Trove  thought. 

"  Did  you  tell  the  tinker  about  your  boss  the 
night  we  were  all  at  Robin's  Inn  last  sum 
mer  ? " 

"  I  told  him  the  whole  story,  an*  he  pumped 
me  dry.  I'd  answer  him,  an'  he'd  holler  '  Very 
well/  an'  shoot  another  question  at  me." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  351 

"  Well,  Thurst,  go  on  with  your  story." 

"  Couldn't  tell  ye  jest  what  happened.  They 
went  off  int'  the  house.  Nex'  day  the  boss 
tol'  me  he  wa'n't  no  longer  a  poor  man  an'  was 
goin'  t'  sell  his  farm  an'  leave  for  Californy. 
In  a  tavern  near  where  we  lived  the  stranger 
died  sudden  that  night,  an'  the  funeral  was  at 
our  house,  an'  he  was  buried  there  in  lowy." 

Trove  walked  to  the  bench  and  stood  a  mo 
ment  looking  out  of  a  window. 

"  Strange ! "  said  he,  returning  presently 
with  tearful  eyes.  "  Do  you  remember  the 
date?" 

"  'Twas  a  Friday,  'bout  the  middle  o'  Sep 
tember." 

Trove  turned,  looking  up  at  the  brazen  dial 
of  the  tall  clock.  It  indicated  four-thirty  in  the 
morning  of  September  iQth. 

"Were  there  any  with  him  when  he  died?" 

"  Yes,  the  tavern  keeper  —  it  was  some  kind 
of  a  stroke  they  told  me." 

"And  your  boss  —  did  he  go  to  California?  " 
Trove  asked. 

"  He  sold  the  farm  an'  went  to  Californy. 
I  worked  there  a  while,  but  the  boss  an'  me 


352  DARREL 

couldn't  agree,  an'  so  I  pulled  up  an'  trotted  fer 
home." 

"  To  what  part  of  California  did  Thompson 
go  ?  " 

"  Hadn't  no  idee  where  he  would  stick  his 
stakes.  He  was  goin'  in  t'  the  gold  business." 

Trove  sat  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  while 
Thurston  Tilly,  warming  to  new  confidence, 
boiled  over  with  enthusiasm  for  the  far  west. 
A  school  friend  of  the  boy  came,  by  and  by, 
whereupon  Tilly  whistled  on  his  thumb  and 
hurried  away. 

"  Did  you  know,"  said  the  newcomer,  when 
Trove  and  he  were  alone,  "  that  Roberts  —  the 
man  who  tried  to  send  you  up  —  is  a  young 
lawyer  and  is  going  to  settle  here  ?  He  and 
Polly  are  engaged." 

" Engaged !  " 

"  So  he  gave  me  to  understand." 

"Well,  if  she  loves  him  and  he's  a  good 
fellow,  I've  no  right  to  complain,"  Trove 
answered. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  he's  a  good  fellow,"  said 
the  other. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  353 

"Well,  a  detective  is  —  is  —  " 

"  A  necessary  evil  ?  "    Trove  suggested. 

"Just  that,"  said  the  other.  "He  must  pre 
tend  to  be  what  he  isn't  and  —  well,  a  gentleman 
is  not  apt  to  sell  himself  for  that  purpose. 
Now  he's  trying  to  convince  people  that  you 
knew  as  much  about  the  crime  as  Darrel.  In 
my  opinion  he  isn't  honest.  Good  looks  and 
fine  raiment  are  all  there  is  to  that  fellow  — 
take  my  word  for  it." 

"  You're  inclined  to  judge  him  harshly,"  said 
Trove.  "  But  I'm  worried,  for  I  fear  he's  un 
worthy  of  her  and  —  and  I  must  leave  town 
to-morrow." 

"Shall  you  go  to  see  her?" 

"  No ;  not  until  I  know  more  about  him.  I 
have  friends  here  and  they  will  give  her  good 
counsel.  Soon  they'll  know  what  kind  of  a 
man  he  is,  and,  if  necessary,  they'll  warn  her. 
I'm  beset  with  trouble,  but,  thank  God,  I  know 
which  way  to  turn." 


XXXIII 


The   White  Guard 


N 


EXT  morning  Trove  was  on 
his  way  to  Quebec  —  a  long, 
hard  journey  in  the  winter 
time,  those  days.  Leblanc  had 
moved  again,  —  so  they  told 


him  in  Quebec,  —  this  time  to  Plattsburg  of  Clin 
ton  County,  New  York.  There,  however,  Trove 
was  unable  to  find  the  Frenchman.  A  week 
of  patient  inquiry,  then,  leaving  promises  of 
reward  for  information,  he  came  away.  He 
had  yet  another  object  of  his  travels  —  the 
prison  at  Dannemora  —  and  came  there  of  a 
Sunday  morning  late  in  February.  Its  towers 
were  bathed  in  sunlight ;  its  shadows  lay  dark 
and  far  upon  the  snow.  Peace  and  light  and 
silence  had  fallen  out  of  the  sky  upon  that 
little  city  of  regret,  as  if  to  hush  and  illumine 
its  tumult  of  dark  passions.  He  shivered  in 
354 


DARREL  355 

the  gloom  of  its  shadow  as  he  went  up  a  drive 
way  and  rang  a  bell.  The  warden  received 
him  kindly. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Roderick  Barrel,  —  he  is  my 
friend,"  said  Trove,  as  he  gave  the  warden  a 
letter. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  official,  presently. 
"  He  is  talking  to  the  men." 

They  passed  through  gloomy  corridors  to  the 
chapel  door.  Trove  halted  to  compose  himself, 
for  now  he  could  hear  the  voice  of  Darrel. 

"  Let  me  stand  here  a  while  —  I  cannot  go  in 
now,"  he  whispered. 

The  words  of  the  old  man  were  vibrant  with 
colour  and  dramatic  force. 

"  Night !  "  he  was  saying,  "  the  guard 
passes  ;  the  lights  are  out ;  ye  lie  thinking. 
Hark !  a  bell !  'Tis  in  the  golden  city  o* 
remembrance.  Ye  hear  it  calling.  Haste 
away,  men,  haste  away.  Ah,  look  !  —  flow 
ers  by  the  roadside  !  an'  sunlight,  an',  just 
ahead,  spires  o'  the  city,  an'  beneath  them 
—  oh !  what  is  there  beneath  them  ye  go 
so  many  times  to  see  ? 

"  Who  is  this  ? 

"  Here  is  a  man  beside  ye. 


356  DARREL 

" '  Halt ! '  he  says,  an  cuts  ye  with  a 
sword. 

"  Now  the  bell  is  tolling  —  the  sky  over 
cast.  The  spires  fall,  the  flowers  wither. 
Ye  turn  to  look  at  the  man.  He  is  a  giant. 
See  the  face  of  him  now.  It  makes  ye 
tremble.  He  is  the  White  Guard  an'  he 
brings  ye  back.  Ah,  then,  mayhap  ye  rise 
in  the  dark,  as  I  have  heard  ye,  an'  shake 
the  iron  doors.  But  ye  cannot  escape  him 
though  ye  could  fly  on  the  wind.  Know 
ye  the  White  Guard  ?  Dear  man !  his 
name  is  thy  name ;  he  is  thyself ;  day  an* 
night  he  sits  in  the  watch  tower  o'  thy 
soul ;  he  has  all  charge  o'  thee.  Make  a 
friend  o'  him,  men,  make  a  friend  o'  him. 
Any  evening  send  for  me,  an'  mayhap 
they'll  let  me  come  an*  tell  thee  how." 

He  paused.  Trove  could  hear  .the  tread  of 
guards  in  the  chapel.  They  seemed  to  enter  the 
magnetic  field  of  the  speaker  and  quickly  halted. 

"  Mind  the  White  Guard  !  Save  him  ye 
have  none  to  fear. 

"  Once,  at  night,  I  saw  a  man  smiling  in 
his  sleep.  'Twas  over  there  in  the  hospi 
tal.  The 'day  long  he  had  been  sick  with 
remorse,  an'  I  had  given  him,  betimes,  a 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  357 

word  o'  comfort  as  well  as  the  medicine. 
Now  when  I  looked  the  frown  had  left  his 
brow.  Oh,  'twas  a  goodly  sight  to  see ! 
He  smiled  an'  murmured  o'  the  days  gone. 
The  man  o'  guilt  lay  dead  —  the  child  of 
innocence  was  living.  An'  he  woke,  an' 
again  the  shadow  fell  upon  him,  an*  he 
wept. 

" '  I  have  been  wandering  in  the  land 
o'  love,'  he  said. 

"'Get  thee  back,  man,  get  thee  back,' 
said  I  to  him. 

"  '  Alas  !  how  can  I  ? '  said  he  ;  '  for  'tis 
only  Sleep  that  opens  the  door.' 

"'Nay,  Sleep  doth  lift  the  garment  o' 
thy  bitterness,  but  only  for  an  hour,'  said 
I.  '  Love,  Love  shall  lift  it  from  thee 
forever/  An'  now,  I  thank  the  good  God, 
the  smile  o'  that  brief  hour  is  ever  on  his 
face.  Ye  know  him  well,  men.  Were  I 
to  bid  him  stand  before  ye,  there's  many 
here  would  wish  to  kiss  his  hand.  Even 
here  in  the  frowning  shadow  o'  these 
walls  he  has  come  into  a  land  o'  love,  an' 
when  he  returns  to  his  people  ye  shall 
weep,  men,  ye  shall  weep,  an'  they  shall 
rejoice.  O  the  land  o'  love !  it  hath  a 
strong  gate.  An'  the  White  Guard,  he 
hath  the  key. 


358  DARREL 

"  Remember,  men,  ye  cannot  reap  unless 
ye  sow.  If  any  would  reap  the  corn,  he 
must  plant  the  corn. 

"Have  ye  stood  of  a  bright  summer 
day  to  watch  the  little  people  o'  the 
field  ?  —  those  millions  that  throng  the 
grass  an'  fly  in  the  sunlight  —  bird  an' 
bee  an'  ant  an'  bug  an'  butterfly  ?  'Tis 
a  land  flowing  with  milk  an'  honey  — 
but  hear  me,  good  men,  not  one  o'  them 
may  take  as  much  as  would  fill  the  mouth 
of  a  cricket  unless  he  pays  the  price. 

"One  day  I  saw  an  ant  trying  to  rob  a 
thistle-blow.  Now  the  law  o'  the  field 
is  that  none  shall  have  honey  who  can 
not  sow  for  the  flower.  While  a  bee 
probes  he  gathers  the  seed-dust  in  his 
hairy  jacket,  an'  away  he  flies,  sowing 
it  far  an'  wide.  Now,  an  ant  is  in  no 
wise  able  to  serve  a  thistle-blow,  but  he 
is  ever  trying  to  rob  her  house.  Know 
ing  her  danger,  she  has  put  around  it 
a  wonderful  barricade.  Down  at  the  root 
her  stem  has  a  thicket  o'  fuzz  an'  hair. 
I  watched  the  little  thief,  an'  he  was  a 
long  time  passing  through  it.  Then  he 
came  on  a  barrier  o'  horny-edged  leaves. 
Underneath  they  were  covered  with  thick, 
webby  hairs  an'  he  sank  over  his  head  in 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  359 

them  an'  toiled  long ;  an'  lo !  when  he  had 
passed  them  there  was  yet  another  row 
o'  leaves  curving  so  as  to  weary  an' 
bewilder  him,  an'  thick  set  with  thorns. 
Slowly  he  climbed,  coming  ever  to  some 
dread  obstruction.  By  an'  by  he  stood 
looking  up  at  the  green,  round  wall  o' 
the  palace.  Above  him  were  its  treas 
ure  an'  its  purple  dome.  He  started 
upward  an'  fell  suddenly  into  a  moat, 
full  o'  sticky  gum,  an'  there  perished. 
Men,  'tis  the  law  o'  God :  unless  ye  sow 
the  seed  that  bears  it,  ye  shall  not  have  the 
honey  o'  forgiveness.  An'  remember  the 
seed  o'  forgiveness  is  forgiveness.  If 
any  have  been  hard  upon  thee,  bearing 
false  witness  an'  robbing  thee  o'  thy  free 
dom  an'  thy  good  name,  go  not  hence 
until  ye  forgive. 

"Ah,  then   the   White   Guard   shall   no 
longer  sit  in  the  tower." 

The  voice  had  stopped.  There  was  a  mo 
ment  of  deep  silence.  Some  power,  greater, 
far  greater,  than  his  words,  had  gone  out  of 
the  man.  Those  many  who  sat  before  him 
and  they  standing  there  by  the  door  had  felt 
it  and  were  deeply  moved.  There  was  a  quick 


360  BARREL 

stir  in  the  audience  —  a  stir  of  hands  and  hand 
kerchiefs.  Trove  entered ;  the  chaplain  was 
now  reading  a  hymn.  Barrel  sat  behind  him 
on  a  raised  platform,  the  silken  spray  upon 
his  brows,  long  and  white  as  snow,  his  face 
thoughtful  and  serious.  The  reading  over,  he 
came  and  sat  among  the  men,  singing  as  they 
sang.  The  benediction,  a  stir  of  feet,  and  the 
prisoners  began  to  press  about  him,  some  kiss 
ing  his  hands.  He  gave  each  a  kindly  greeting. 
It  was  like  the  night  of  the  party  on  Cedar 
Hill.  A  moment  more,  and  the  crowd  was 
filing  away,  some  looking  back  curiously  at 
Trove,  who  stood,  his  arms  about  the  old 
man. 

"  Courage,  boy  !  "  the  latter  was  saying ;  "  I 
know  it  cuts  thee  like  a  sword,  an'  would  to 
God  I  could  have  spared  thee  even  this.  Look ! 
in  yon  high  window  I  can  see  the  sunlight,  an', 
believe  me,  there  is  not  a  creature  it  shines 
upon  so  happy  as  I.  God  love  thee,  boy,  God 
love  thee!" 

He  put  his  cheek  upon  that  of  the  boy  and 
stroked  his  hair  gently.  Then  a  little  time  of 
silence,  and  the  storm  had  passed. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  361 

"  A  fine,  fine  lad  ye  are,"  said  Barrel,  looking 
proudly  at  the  young  man,  who  stood  now  quite 
composed.  "  Let  me  take  thy  hand.  Ay,  'tis 
a  mighty  arm  ye  have,  an'  some  day,  some  day 
it  will  shake  the  towers." 

"  You  will  both  dine  with  me  in  my  quarters 
at  one,"  said  the  warden,  presently. 

Trove  turned  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  Thank  ye,  sor ;  an'  mind  ye  make  room  for 
Wit  an'  Happiness,"  said  the  tinker. 

"  Bring  them  along  —  they're  always  wel 
come  at  my  table,"  the  warden  answered  with 
a  laugh. 

"  Know  ye  not  they're  in  prison,  now,  for  keep 
ing  bad  company  ? "  said  Barrel,  as  he  turned. 
"  At  one,  boy,"  he  added,  shaking  the  boy's 
hand.  "  Ah,  then,  good  cheer  an'  many  a 
merry  jest." 

Barrel  left  the  room,  waving  his  hand. 
Trove  and  the  warden  made  their  way  to  the 
prison  office. 

"  A  wonderful  man  !  "  said  the  latter,  as  they 
went.  "We  love  and  respect  him  and  give 
him  all  the  liberty  we  can.  For  a  long  time 
he  has  been  nursing  in  the  hospital,  and  when 


362  BARREL 

I  see  that  he  is  overworking  I  bring  him  to  my 
office  and  set  him  at  easy  jobs." 

Barrel  came  presently,  and  they  went  to 
dinner.  The  tinker  bowed  politely  to  the 
warden's  wife  and  led  her  to  the  table. 

"  Good  friends,"  said  he,  as  they  were  sitting 
down,  "there  is  an  hour  that  is  short  o' 
minutes  an*  yet  holds  a  week  o'  pleasure  —  who 
can  tell  me  which  hour  it  is  ? " 

"  I  never  guessed  a  riddle,"  said  the  woman. 

"  Marry,  dear  madam,  'tis  the  hour  o'  thy 
hospitality,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  When  you  are  in  it,"  she  answered  with 
good  humour. 

"  Fellow-travellers  on  the  road  to  heaven," 
said  Barrel,  raising  his  glass,  "  St.  Peter  is 
fond  of  a  smiling  face." 

"  And  when  you  see  him  you'll  make  a 
jest,"  were  the  words  of  the  warden. 

"  For  I  believe  he  is  a  lover  o'  good  com 
pany,"  said  Barrel. 

The  warden's  wife  remarked,  then,  that  she 
had  enjoyed  his  talk  in  the  chapel. 

11  I'm  a  new  form  o'  punishment,"  said  Barrel, 
soberly. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  363 

"  But  they  all  enjoy  it,"  she  answered. 

"  I'm  not  so  rough  as  the  ministers.  They 
use  fire  an'  the  fume  o'  sulphur." 

"And  the  men  go  to  sleep." 

"Ay,  the  cruel  master  makes  a  thick  hide,1' 
said  Barrel,  quickly.  "  So  Nature  puts  her 
hand  between  the  whip  an'  the  horse,  an'  sleep 
between  cruelty  an'  the  congregation." 

"  Nature  is  kind,"  was  the  remark  of  the 
warden. 

"An*  shows  the  intent  o'  the  Almighty,"  said 
Barrel.  "  There  are  two  words.  In  them  are 
all  the  sermons." 

"  And  what  are  they  ?  "  the  woman  asked. 

"  Fear,"  Barrel  answered  thoughtfully  ;  "  that 
is  one  o'  them."  He  paused  to  sip  his  tea. 

"  And  the  other  is  ?  " 

"Love." 

There  was  half  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  Here's  Life  to  Love  an'  Beath  to  Fear," 
the  tinker  added,  draining  his  cup.  "Ay, 
madam,  fill  again  —  'tis  memorable  tea." 

The  woman  refilled  his  cup. 

"  Many  a  time  I've  sat  at  meat  an'  thought, 
O  that  mine  enemy  could  taste  thy  tea ! 


364  DARREL 

But    this,    dear    lady,    this    beverage    is    for  a 
friend." 

So  the  dinner  went  on,  others  talking  only 
to  encourage  the  tongue  of  Barrel.  Trove,  well 
as  he  knew  the  old  man,  had  been  surprised 
by  his  fortitude.  Far  from  being  broken,  the 
spirit  in  him  was  happy,  masterful,  triumphant. 
He  had  work  to  do  and  was  earning  that  high 
reward  of  happiness  —  to  him  the  best  thing 
under  heaven.  The  dinner  over,  all  rose,  and 
Barrel  bowed  politely  to  the  warden's  wife. 
Then  he  quoted  :  — 

"  *  Like  as  the  waves  make  toward  the  pebbled  shore, 
So  do  our  minutes  hasten  to  their  end.1 

"  Bear  madam,  they  do  hasten  but  to  come 
as  well  as  to  go.  Thanks  an'  au  revoir." 

Barrel  and  Trove  went  away  with  the  warden, 
who  bade  them  sit  a  while  in  his  office.  Tinker 
and  young  man  were  there  talking  until  the 
day  was  gone.  The  warden  sat  apart,  reading. 
Now  and  again  they  whispered  earnestly,  as  if 
they  were  not  agreed,  Barrel  shaking  his  fore 
finger  and  his  head.  Trove  came  away  as  the 
dark  fell,  a  sad  and  thoughtful  look  upon  him. 


XXXIV 

More  Evidence 


\&*g&ZT&m 


r 


ROVE  went  to  the  inn  at  Dan- 
nemora  that  evening  he  left 
Barrel  and  there  found  a  letter. 
It  said  that  Leblanc  was  living 


jg 

\£&Q&£&£L$t  near  St.  Albans.  Posted  in 
Plattsburg  and  signed  "  Henry  Hope,"  the  letter 
gave  no  hint  of  bad  faith,  and  with  all  haste  he 
went  to  the  place  it  named.  He  was  there  a 
fortnight,  seeking  the  Frenchman,  but  getting 
no  word  of  him,  and  then  came  a  new  letter 
from  the  man  Hope.  It  said  now  that  Leblanc 
had  moved  on  to  Middlebury.  Trove  went  there, 
spent  the  last  of  his  money,  and  sat  one  day  in 
the  tavern  office,  considering  what  to  do  ;  for 
now,  after  weeks  of  wandering,  he  was,  it  seemed, 
no  nearer  the  man  he  sought.  He  had  soon 
reached  a  thought  of  some  value :  this  in 
formation  of  the  unknown  correspondent  was, 
at  least,  unreliable,  and  he  would  give  it  no 
365 


366  DARREL 

further  heed.  What  should  he  do?  On  that 
point  he  was  not  long  undecided,  for  while  he 
was  thinking  of  it  a  boy  came  and  said : 
"There's  a  lady  waiting  to  see  you  in  the 
parlour,  sir." 

He  went  immediately  to  the  parlour  above 
stairs,  and  there  sat  Polly  in  her  best  gown  — 
"the  sweetest-looking  creature,"  he  was  wont 
to  say,  "this  side  of  Paradise."  Polly  rose,  and 
his  amazement  checked  his  feet  a  moment. 
Then  he  advanced  quickly  and  would  have 
kissed  her,  but  she  turned  her  face  away  and 
stood  looking  down.  They  were  in  a  silence 
full  of  history.  Twice  she  tried  to  speak,  but 
an  odd  stillness  followed  the  first  word,  giving 
possibly  the  more  adequate  expression  to  her 
thoughts. 

"How  came  you  here?"  he  whispered  pres 
ently. 

"I  —  I  have  been  trying  to  find  you,"  said 
she,  at  length. 

He  turned,  looking  from  end  to  end  of  the 
large  room ;  they  were  quite  alone. 

"Polly,"  he  whispered,  "I  believe  you  do 
love  me." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  367 

For  a  little  time  she   made  no  answer. 

"  No,"  she  whispered,  shaking  her  head ; 
"that  is,  I  — I  do  not  think  I  love  you." 

"  Then  why  have   you  come  to  find   me  ? " 

"  Because  —  because  you  did  not  come  to 
find  me,"  she  answered,  glancing  down  at  the 
toe  of  her  pretty  shoe. 

She  turned  impatiently  and  stood  by  an  open 
window.  She  was  looking  out  upon  a  white 
orchard.  Odours  of  spring  flower  and  apple 
blossom  were  in  the  soft  wings  of  the  wind. 
Somehow  they  mingled  with  her  feeling  and 
were  always  in  her  memory  of  that  hour.  Her 
arm  moved  slowly  and  a  'kerchief  went  to  her 
eyes.  Then,  a  little  tremor  in  the  plume  upon 
her  hat.  Trove  went  to  her  side. 

"  Dear  Polly  !  "  he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand 
in  his.  Gently  she  pulled  it  away. 

"I  —  I  cannot  speak  to  you  now,"  she  whis 
pered. 

Then  a  long  silence.  The  low  music  of  a 
million  tiny  wings  came  floating  in  at  the  win 
dow.  It  seemed,  somehow,  like  a  voice  of  the 
past,  with  minutes,  like  the  bees,  hymning  indis- 
tinguishably.  Polly  and  Trove  were  thinking 


368  BARREL 

of  the  same  things.  "  I  can  doubt  him  no 
more,"  she  thought,  "  and  I  know  —  I  know 
that  he  loves  me."  They  could  hear  the  flutter 
of  bird  wings  beyond  the  window  and  in  the 
stillness  they  got  some  understanding  of  each 
other.  She  turned  suddenly,  and  went  to  where 
he  stood. 

"  Sidney,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sorry  —  I  am  sorry 
if  I  have  hurt  you." 

She  lifted  one  of  his  hands  and  pressed  her 
red  cheek  upon  it  fondly.  In  a  moment  he 
spoke. 

"  Long  ago  I  knew  that  you  were  doubting 
me,  but  I  couldn't  help  it,"  he  said. 

"It  was  that  —  that  horrible  secret,"  she 
whispered. 

"  I  had  no  right  to  your  love,"  said  he, 
" until — "  he  hesitated  for  a  little,  "until  I 
could  tell  you  the  truth." 

"You  loved  somebody  else?"  she  whispered, 
turning  to  him.  "  Didn't  you,  now  ?  Tell  me." 

"No,"  said  he,  calmly.  "The  fact  is  — the 
fact  is  I  had  learned  that  my  father  was  a 
thief." 

"Your   father!"    she   answered.     "Do   you 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  369 

think  I  care  what  your  father  did  ?  Your 
honour  and  your  love  were  enough  for  me." 

"I  did  not  know,"  he  whispered,  "and  I 
should  have  made  my  way  to  you,  but  —  "  he 
paused  again. 

"  But  what  ?  "  she  demanded,  impatiently. 

"Well,  it  was  only  fair  you  should  have  a 
chance  to  meet  others,  and  I  thought  you  were 
in  love  with  Roberts." 

"  Roberts  !  He  would  have  been  glad  of  my 
love,  I  can  tell  you  that."  She  looked  up  at 
him.  "  I  have  endured  much  for  you,  Sidney 
Trove,  and  I  cannot  keep  my  secret  any  longer. 
He  says  that  Barrel  is  now  in  prison  for  your 
crime." 

"And  you  believe   him?"  Trove  whispered. 

"  Not  that,"  she  answered  quickly,  "  but  you 
know  I  loved  the  dear  old  man  ;  I  cannot  think 
him  guilty  any  more  than  I  could  think  it  of 
you.  But  there's  a  deep  mystery  in  it  all.  It 
has  made  me  wretched.  Every  one  thinks  you 
know  more  than  you  have  told  about  it." 

"A  beautiful  mystery  !  "  the  young  man  whis 
pered.  "  He  thought  I  should  be  convicted  — 
who  wouldn't  ?  I  think  he  loved  me,  so  that  he 


37°  DARREL 

took  the  shame  and  the  suffering  and  the  prison 
to  save  me." 

"  He  would  have  died  for  you,"  she  answered  ; 
"but,  Sidney,  it  was  dreadful  to  let  them  take 
him  away.  Couldn't  you  have  done  some 
thing  ? " 

"  Something,  dear  Polly  !  and  I  with  a  foot  in 
the  grave  ? " 

"  Where  did  you  go  that  night  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know ;  but  in  the  morning  I  found 
myself  in  our  great  pasture  and  was  ill.  Some 
instinct  led  me  home,  and,  as  usual,  I  had  gone 
across  lots."  Then  he  told  the  story  of  that 
day  and  night  and  the  illness  that  followed. 

"I,  too,  was  ill,"  said  Polly,  "and  I  thought 
you  were  cruel  not  to  come  to  me.  When  I 
began  to  go  out  of  doors  they  told  me  you 
were  low  with  fever.  Then  I  got  ready  to  go 
to  you,  and  that  very  day  I  saw  you  pass  the 
door.  I  thought  surely  you  would  come  to  see 
me,  but  —  but  you  went  away." 

Polly's  lips  were  trembling,  and  she  covered 
her  eyes  a  moment  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  I  feared  to  be  unwelcome,"  said  he. 

"  You   and   every   one,    except    my   mother, 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  371 

was  determined  that  I  should  marry  Roberts," 
Polly  went  on.  "  He  has  been  urgent,  but 
you,  Sidney,  you  wouldn't  have  me.  You 
have  done  everything  you  could  to  help  him. 
Now  I've  found  you,  and  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  all,  and  you've  got  to  listen  to  me.  He 
has  proof,  he  says,  that  you  are  guilty  of  an 
other  crime,  and  —  and  he  says  you  are  now 
a  fugitive  trying  to  escape  arrest." 

A  little  silence  followed,  in  which  Trove  was 
thinking  of  the  Hope  letters  and  of  Roberts' 
claim  that  he  was  engaged  to  Polly. 

"  You  have  been  wrapped  in  mysteries  long 
enough.  I  shall  not  let  you  go  until  you  ex 
plain,"  she  continued. 

"There's  no  mystery  about  this,"  said  Trove, 
calmly.  "  Roberts  is  a  rascal,  and  that's  the 
reason  I'm  here." 

She  turned  quickly  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  I  mean  it.  He  knows  I  am  guilty  of  no 
crime,  but  he  does  know  that  I  am  looking 
for  Louis  Leblanc,  and  he  has  fooled  me  with 
lying  letters  to  keep  me  out  of  the  way  and 
win  you  with  his  guile." 

A  serious  look  came  into  the  eyes  of  Polly. 


372  DARREL 

"You  are  looking  for  Louis  Leblanc,"  she 
whispered. 

"  Yes ;  it  is  the  first  move  in  a  plan  to  free 
Barrel,  for  I  am  sure  that  Leblanc  committed 
the  crime.  I  shall  know  soon  after  I  meet  him." 

"  How  ? " 

"  If  he  should  have  a  certain  mark  on  the 
back  of  his  left  hand  and  were  to  satisfy  me 
in  two  other  details,  I'd  give  my  life  to  one  pur 
pose, —  that  of  making  him  confess.  God  help 
me !  I  cannot  find  the  man.  But  I  shall  not 
give  up ;  I  shall  go  and  see  the  Governor." 

Turning  her  face  away  and  looking  out  of  the 
window,  she  felt  for  his  hand.  Then  she  pressed 
it  fondly.  That  was  the  giving  of  all  sacred 
things  forever,  and  he  knew  it.  He  was  the 
same  Sidney  Trove,  but  never  until  that  day 
had  she  seen  the  full  height  of  his  noble  man 
hood,  ever  holding  above  its  own  the  happiness 
of  them  it  loved.  Suddenly  her  heart  was  full 
with  thinking  of  the  power  and  beauty  of  it. 

"  I  do  love  you,  Polly,"  said  Trove,  at  length. 
"I've  answered  your  queries, — all  of  them, — 
and  now  it's  my  turn.  If  we  were  at  Robin's  Inn, 
I  should  put  my  arms  about  you,  and  I  should 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  373 

not  let  you  go  until  — until  you  had  promised 
to  be  my  wife." 

"And  I  should  not  promise  for  at  least  an 
hour,"  said  she,  smiling,  as  she  turned,  her  dark 
eyes  full  of  their  new  discovery.  "  Let  us  go 
home." 

"I'm  going  to  be  imperative,"  said  he,  "and 
you  must  answer  before  I  will  let  you  go  —  " 

"Dear  Sidney,"  said  she,  "let's  wait  until 
we  reach  home.  It's  too  bad  to  spoil  it  here. 
But  —  "  she  whispered,  looking  about  the  room, 
"you  may  kiss  me  once  now." 

"It's  like  a  tale  in  Harpers"  said  he,  pres 
ently.  "It's  'to  be  continued,'  always,  at  the 
most  exciting  passage." 

"  I  shall  take  the  cars  at  one  o'clock,"  said 
she,  smiling.  "  But  I  shall  not  allow  you  to  go 
with  me.  You  know  the  weird  sisters." 

"  It  would  be  impossible,"  said  Trove.  "  I 
must  get  work  somewhere  ;  my  money  is  gone." 

"  Money  !  "  said  she,  opening  her  purse.  "  I'm 
a  Lady  Bountiful.  Think  of  it  —  I've  two 
hundred  dollars  here.  Didn't  you  know  Riley 
Brooke  cancelled  the  mortgage  ?  Mother  had 
saved  this  money  for  a  payment." 


374  BARREL 

"  Cancelled  the  mortgage  !  "  said  Trove. 

"Yes,  the  dear  old  tinker  repaired  him,  and 
now  he's  a  new  man.  I'll  give  you  a  job, 
Sidney." 

" What  to  do?" 

"Go  and  see  the  Governor,  and  then  —  and 
then  you  are  to  report  to  me  at  Robin's  Inn. 
Mind  you,  there's  to  be  no  delay,  and  I'll  pay 
you  —  let's  see,  I'll  pay  you  a  hundred  dollars." 

Trove  began  to  laugh,  and  thought  of  this 
odd  fulfilling  of  the  ancient  promises. 

"I  shall  stay  to-night  with  a  cousin  at  Bur 
lington.  Oh,  there's  one  more  thing  —  you're 
to  get  a  new  suit  of  clothes  at  Albany,  and, 
remember,  it  must  be  very  grand." 

It  was  near  train  time,  and  they  left  the  inn. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  everything,"  said  she, 
as  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  depot.  "  The 
day  after  to-morrow  I  am  to  see  that  dreadful 
Roberts.  I'm  longing  to  give  him  his  answer." 

Not  an  hour  before  then  Roberts  had  passed 
them  on  his  way  to  Boston. 


XXXV 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Golden  Spool1 


T  was  early  May  and  a  bright 
morning  in  Hillsborough. 
There  were  lines  of  stores 
and  houses  on  either  side  of 
the  main  thoroughfare  from 
the  river  to  Moosehead  Inn,  a  long,  low, 
white  building  that  faced  the  public  square. 
Hunters  coming  off  its  veranda  and  gazing 
down  the  street,  as  if  sighting  over  gun-barrels 
at  the  bridge,  were  wont  to  reckon  the  distance 
"  nigh  on  to  forty  rod."  There  were  "  Boston 
Stores"  and  "Great  Emporiums"  and  shops, 
modest  as  they  were  small,  in  that  forty  rods 
of  Hillsborough.  Midway  was  a  little  white 
building,  its  eaves  within  reach  of  one's  hand, 
its  gable  on  the  line  of  the  sidewalk  over- 

1  The  author  desires  to  say  that  this  chap'  er  relates  to  no 
shop  now  in  existence. 

375 


376  BARREL 

hanging  which,  from  a  crane  above  the  door, 
was  a  big,  golden  spool.  In  its  two  windows 
were  lace  and  ribbons  and  ladies'  hats  and 
spools  of  thread,  and  blue  shades  drawn  high 
from  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  dark. 
It  was  the  little  shop  of  Ruth  Tole — a  house 
of  Fate  on  the  way  from  happening  to  history. 
There  secrets,  travel-worn,  were  nourished 
a  while  and  sent  on  their  way ;  reputations 
were  made  over  and  often  trimmed  with  ex 
cellent  taste  and  discrimination.  The  wicked 
might  prosper  for  a  time,  but  by  and  by  the 
fates  were  at  work  on  them,  there  in  the  little 
shop,  and  then  every  one  smiled  as  the  sinner 
passed,  with  the  decoration  of  his  rank  upon 
him.  And  the  sinner  smiled  also,  seeing  not 
the  badge  on  his  own  back  but  only  that  on  the 
back  of  his  brother,  and  was  highly  pleased, 
for,  if  he  had  sin  deeper  than  his  brother's  he 
had  some  discretion.  Relentless  and  not  over- 
just  were  they  of  this  weird  sisterhood.  Since 
the  time  of  the  gods  they  have  been  without 
honour  but  never  without  work,  and  often  they 
have  had  a  better  purpose  than  they  knew. 
Those  of  Hillsborough  did  their  work  as  if 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  377 

with  a  sense  of  its  great  solemnity.  There  was 
a  flavour  of  awe  in  their  nods  and  whispers,  and 
they  seemed  to  know  they  were  touching  im 
mortal  souls.  But  now  and  then  they  put  on 
the  masque  of  comedy. 

Ruth  Tole  was  behind  the  counter,  sorting 
threads.  She  was  a  maiden  of  middle  life  and 
severe  countenance,  of  few  and  decisive  words. 
The  door  of  the  little  shop  was  ajar,  and  near 
it  a  woman  sat  knitting.  She  had  a  position 
favourable  for  eye  and  ear.  She  could  see  all 
who  passed,  on  either  side  of  the  way,  and  not 
a  word  or  move  in  the  shop  escaped  her.  In 
the  sisterhood  she  bore  the  familiar  name  of 
Lize.  She  had  been  talking  about  that  old 
case  of  Riley  Brooke  and  the  Widow  Glover. 

"  Looks  to  me,"  said  she,  thoughtfully,  as 
she  tickled  her  scalp  with  a  knitting-needle, 
"that  she  took  the  kinks  out  o'  him.  He's  a 
good  deal  more  respectable." 

"  Like  a  panther  with  his  teeth  pulled," 
said  a  woman  who  stood  by  the  counter,  buy 
ing  a  spool  of  thread.  "  Ain't  you  heard  how 
they  made  up  ?  " 

"  Land    sakes,    no !  "    said    the    sister    Lize, 


378  DARREL 

hurriedly  finishing  a  stitch  and  then  halting 
her  fingers  to  pull  the  yarn. 

The  shopkeeper  began  rolling  ribbons  with 
a  look  of  indifference.  She  never  took  part 
in  the  gossip  and,  although  she  loved  to  hear 
it,  had,  mostly,  the  air  of  one  without  ears. 

"  Well,  that  old  tinker  gave  'em  both  a  good 
talking  to,"  said  the  customer.  "  He  brings 
'em  face  to  face,  and  he  says  to  him,  says  he, 
'  In  the  day  o'  the  judgment  God  '11  mind  the 
look  o'  your  wife,'  and  then  he  says  the  same 
to  her." 

"  Singular  man  !  "  said  the  comely  sister  Lize, 
who  now  resumed  her  knitting. 

"  He  never  robbed  that  bank,  either,  any 
more  'n  I  did." 

"  Men  ain't  apt  to  claim  a  sin  that  don't 
belong  to  'em  —  that's  my  opinion." 

"  He  did  it  to  shield  another." 

"  Sidney  Trove  ?  "  was  the  half -whispered 
query  of  the  sister  Lize. 

"  Trove,  no  !  "  said  the  other,  quickly.  "  It 
was  that  old  man  with  a  gray  beard  who 
never  spoke  to  anybody  an'  used  to  visit  the 
tinker." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  379 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  newcomer  —  a 
stout  woman  of  middle  age  who  fluttered  in, 
breathing  heavily,  under  a  look  of  pallor  and 
agitation. 

"  Sh-h-h !  "  said  she,  lifting  a  large  hand. 
She  sank  upon  a  chair,  fanning  herself.  She 
said  nothing  for  a  little,  as  if  to  give  the  Re 
cording  Angel  a  chance  to  dip  her  pen.  The 
customer,  who  was  now  counting  a  box  of 
beads,  turned  quickly,  and  she  that  was  called 
Lize  dropped  her  knitting. 

"  What  is  it,  Bet,  for  mercy's  sake  ? "  said  the 
latter. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news  ? "  said  she  that 
was  called  Bet. 

"  Land  sakes,  no ! "   said  both  the  others. 

Then  followed  a  moment  of  suspense,  during 
which  the  newcomer  sat  biting  her  under  lip, 
a  merry  smile  in  her  face.  She  was  like  a 
child  dallying  with  a  red  plum. 

"  You're  too  provoking !  "  said  the  sister 
Lize,  impatiently.  "  Why  do  you  keep  us 
hanging  by  the  eyebrows  ? "  She  pulled 
her  yarn  with  some  violence,  and  the  ball 
dropped  to  the  floor,  rolling  half  across  it. 


380  DARREL 

"  Sh-h-h ! "  said  the  dear  sister  Bet  again. 
Another  woman  had  stopped  by  the  door. 
Then  a  scornful  whisper  from  the  sister  Lize. 

"  It's  that  horrible  Kate  Tredder.  Mercy ! 
is  she  coming  in  ?  " 

She  came  in.  Long  since  she  had  ceased 
to  enjoy  credit  or  confidence  at  the  little  shop. 

"  Nice  day,"  said  she. 

The  sister  Lize  moved  impatiently  and  picked 
up  her  work.  This  untimely  entrance  had  left 
her  "  hanging  by  the  eyebrows "  and  red 
with  anxiety.  She  gave  the  newcomer  a 
sweeping  glance,  sighed  and  said,  "  Yes."  The 
sister  Bet  grew  serious  and  began  tapping  the 
floor  with  her  toe. 

"  I've  been  clear  'round  the  square,"  said 
Mrs.  Tredder,  "an'  I  guess  I'll  sit  a  while.  I 
ain't  done  a  thing  to-day,  an'  I  don't  b'lieve  I'll 
try  'til  after  dinner.  Miss  Tole,  you  may  give 
me  another  yard  o'  that  red  silk  ribbon." 

She  sat  by  the  counter,  and  Miss  Tole  sniffed 
a  little  and  began  to  measure  the  ribbon.  She 
was  deeply  if  secretly  offended  by  this  intrusion. 

"What's  the  news?"  said  the  newcomer, 
turning  to  the  sister  Bet. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  381 

"  Oh,  nothing !  "  said  the  other,  wearily. 

"Ain't  you  heard  about  that  woman  up  at 
the  Moosehead  ?  " 

"Heard  all  I  care  to,"  said  the  sister  Bet, 
with  jealous  feeling.  Here  was  another  red 
plum  off  the  same  tree. 

"What  about  her?"  said  the  sister  Lize, 
now  reaching  on  tiptoe,  as  it  were.  The  sister 
Bet  rose  impatiently  and  made  for  the  door. 

"  Going  ? "  said  she  that  was  called  Lize,  a 
note  of  alarm  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes ;  do  you  think  I've  nothing  else  to  do 
but  sit  here  and  gossip,"  said  sister  Bet,  dis 
appearing  suddenly,  her  face  red. 

The  newcomer  sat  in  a  thoughtful  attitude, 
her  elbow  on  the  counter. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  sister  Lize. 

"  You  all  treat  me  so  funny  here  I  guess  I'll 
go,"  said  Mrs.  Tredder,  who  now  got  up,  her 
face  darkening,  and  hurried  away.  They  of 
the  plums  had  both  vanished. 

"Wretch!"  said  the  sister  Lize,  hotly;  "I 
could  have  choked  her."  She  squirmed  a  little, 
moving  her  chair  roughly. 

"She's  forever  sticking  her  nose  into  other 


382  DARREL 

people's  business,"  were  the  words  of  the  cus 
tomer  who  was  counting  beads.  She  seemed 
to  be  near  the  point  of  tears. 

"Maybe  that's  why  it's  so  red,"  the  other 
answered  with  unspeakable  contempt.  "  I'm  so 
mad  I  can  hardly  sit  still." 

She  wound  her  yarn  close  and  stuck  her 
needle  into  the  ball. 

"  Thank  goodness  !  "  said  she,  suddenly ; 
"here  comes  Serene." 

The  sister  Serene  Davis,  a  frail,  fair  lady, 
entered. 

"  Well,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  suppose  you've 
heard  — "  she  paused  to  get  her  breath. 

"  What  ?  "  said  the  sister  Lize,  in  a  whisper, 
approaching  the  new  arrival. 

"  My  heart  is  all  in  a  flutter  —  don't  hurry 
me." 

The  sister  Lize  went  to  the  door  and  closed 
it.  Then  she  turned  quickly,  facing  the  other 
woman. 

"Serene  Davis,"  she  began  solemnly,  "you'll 
never  leave  this  room  alive  until  you  tell  us." 

"Can't  you  let  a  body  enjoy  herself  a 
minute  ? " 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  383 

"  Tell  me,"  she  insisted,  threatening  with  a 
needle. 

Ruth  Tole  regarded  them  with  a  look  of 
firmness  which  seemed  to  say,  "  Stab  her  if 
she  doesn't  tell." 

"  Well,"  said  the  sister  Serene,  "  you  know 
that  stylish  young  widow  that  came  a  while 
ago  to  the  Moosehead  —  the  one  that  wore  the 
splendid  black  silk  the  night  o'  the  ball  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  was  a  detective,"  —  this  in  a  whisper. 

"What !  "  said  the  other  two,  awesomely. 

"A  detective." 

Then  a  quick  movement  of  chairs  and  a 
pulling  of  yarn.  Ruth  dropped  a  spool  of 
thread  which  rattled,  as  it  fell,  and  rolled  a 
space  and  lay  neglected. 

The  sister  Serene  was  now  laughing. 

"  It's  ridiculous !  "  she  remarked. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  others,  and  one  of  them 
added,  "  Land  sakes  !  don't  stop  now." 

"  Well,  she  got  sick  the  other  day  and  sent 
for  a  lawyer,  an'  who  do  you  suppose  it  was  ? " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Ruth  Tole.  The  words  had 
broken  away  from  her,  and  she  covered  her 


384  DARREL 

mouth,  quickly,  and  began  to  look  out  of  the 
window.  The  speaker  had  begun  to  laugh 
again. 

"  Twas  Dick  Roberts,"  she  went  on.  "  He 
went  over  to  the  tavern ;  she  lay  there  in  bed 
and  had  a  nurse  in  the  room  with  her  —  a 
woman  she  got  in  Ogdensburg.  She  tells  the 
young  lawyer  she  wants  him  to  make  her  will. 
Then  she  describes  her  property  and  he  puts 
it  down.  There  was  a  palace  in  Wales  and  a 
castle  on  the  Rhine  and  pearls  and  diamonds 
and  fifty  thousand  pounds  in  a  foreign  bank, 
and  I  don't  know  what  all.  Well,  ye  know, 
she  was  pert  and  handsome,  and  he  began  to 
take  notice." 

The  sisters  looked  from  one  to  another  and 
gave  up  to  gleeful  smiles,  but  Ruth  was,  if 
anything,  a  bit  firmer  than  before. 

"  Next  day  he  brought  her  some  flowers, 
and  she  began  to  get  better.  Then  he  took 
her  out  to  ride.  One  night  about  ten  o'clock 
the  nurse  comes  into  the  room  sudden  like,  and 
finds  him  on  his  knees  before  the  widow, 
kissing  her  dress  an'  talking  all  kinds  o'  non 
sense." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  385 

"  Here !  stop  a  minute,"  said  the  sister  Lize, 
who  had  now  dropped  her  knitting  and  begun 
to  fan  herself.  "You  take  my  breath  away." 
The  details  were  too  important  for  hasty  con 
sideration. 

"  Makin'  love  ? "  said  she  with  the  beads, 
thoughtfully. 

"I  should  think  likely,"  said  the  other, 
whereupon  the  three  began  to  laugh  again. 
Their  merriment  over,  through  smiles  they 
gave  each  other  looks  of  dreamy  reflection. 

"Now  go  on,"  said  the  sister  Lize,  leaning 
forward,  her  chin  upon  her  hands. 

"  There  he  knelt,  kissing  her  dress,"  the 
narrator  continued. 

"Why  didn't  he  kiss  her  face?" 

"  Because  she  wouldn't  let  him,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  others,  nodding  their  heads, 
thoughtfully. 

"When  the  nurse  came,"  the  sister  Serene 
continued,  "the  widow  went  to  a  desk  and 
wrote  a  letter  and  brought  it  to  Dick.  Then 
says  the  widow,  says  she :  '  You  take  this  to 
my  uncle  in  Boston.  If  you  can  make  him 
give  his  consent,  I'd  be  glad  to  see  you  again.' 


386  DARREL 

"  Dick,  he  rushed  off  that  very  evening  an' 
took  the  cars  at  Madrid.  What  do  you  sup 
pose  the  letter  said  ?  " 

The  sister  Serene  began  to  shake  with 
laughter. 

"What?"  was  the  eager  demand  of  the  two 
sisters. 

"Well,  the  widow  told  the  nurse  and  she 
told  Mary  Jones  and  Mary  told  me.  The  let 
ter  was  kind  o'  short  and  about  like  this :  — 

" '  Pardon  me  for  introducing  a  scamp 
by  the  name  of  Roberts.  He's  engaged 
to  a  very  sweet  young  lady  and  has  the 
impudence  to  make  love  to  me.  I  wish 
to  get  him  out  of  this  town  for  a  while, 
and  can't  think  of  any  better  way.  Don't 
use  him  too  roughly.  He  was  a  detective 
once  himself.' 

"Well,  in  a  couple  of  days  the  widow  got 
a  telegraph  message  from  her  uncle,  an'  what 
do  you  suppose  it  said  ? " 

The  sister  Serene  covered  her  face  and  be 
gan  to  quiver.  The  other  two  were  leaning 
toward  her,  smiling,  their  mouths  open. 

"What  was  it?"  said  the  sister  Lize. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  387 

" '  Kicked  him  downstairs,' "  the  narrator 
quoted. 

"Y!"  the  two  whispered. 

"  Good  enough  for  him."  It  was  the  verdict 
of  the  little  shopkeeper,  sharply  spoken,  as  she 
went  on  with  her  work. 

"So  I  say,"  —  this  from  the  other  three,  who 
were  now  quite  serious. 

"  He'd  better  not  come  back  here,"  said  the 
sister  Lize. 

"  He  never  will,  probably." 

"  Who  employed  the  widow  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,"  said  the  sister  Serene. 
"  Before  she  left  town  she  had  a  check  cashed, 
an'  it  come  from  Riley  Brooke.  Some  think 
Martha  Vaughn  herself  knows  all  about  it. 
Sh-h-h  !  there  goes  Sidney  Trove." 

"  Ain't  he  splendid  looking  ? "  said  she  with 
the  beads. 

Ruth  Tole  had  opened  the  door,  and  they 
were  now  observing  the  street  and  those  who 
were  passing  in  it. 

"  One  of  these  days  there'll  be  some  tall 
love-making  up  there  at  the  Widow  Vaughn's," 
said  she  that  was  called  Lize. 


388  BARREL 

"  Like  to  be  behind  the  door  "  —  this  from 
her  with  the  beads. 

"  I  wouldn't,"  said  the  sister  Serene. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't !  " 

"I'd  rather  be  up  next  to  the  young  man." 
A  merry  laugh,  and  then  a  sigh  from  the  sister 
Lize,  who  looked  a  bit  dreamy  and  began  to 
tickle  her  head  with  a  knitting-needle. 

"  What  are  you  sighing  for  ? "  said  she  with 
the  beads. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  other,  yawning,  "it  makes 
me  think  o'  the  time  when  I  was  a  girl." 

"Look!  there's  Jeanne  Brulet,"  —  it  was  a 
quick  whisper. 

They  gathered  close  and  began  to  shake 
their  heads  and  frown.  Now,  indeed,  they 
were  as  the  Fates  of  old. 

"  Look  at  her  clothes,"  another  whispered. 

"They're  better  than  I  can  wear.  I'd  like 
to  know  where  she  gets  the  money." 

Then  a  look  from  one  to  the  other  —  a  look 
of  fateful  import,  soon  to  travel  far,  and  loose 
a  hundred  tongues.  That  moment  the  bowl 
was  broken,  but  the  weird  sisters  knew  not 
the  truth. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  389 

She  that  was  called  Lize  put  up  her  knit 
ting  and  rose  from  her  chair. 

"There's  work  waiting  for  me  at  home," 
said  she. 

"  Quilting  ? " 

"  No ;  I'm  working  on  a  shroud.'* 


XXXVI 

The  Laws  Approval 


T 


ROVE  had  come  to  Hills- 
borough  that  very  hour  he 
passed  the  Golden  Spool.  In 


him  a  touch  of  dignity  had 
sobered  the  careless  eye  of 
youth.  He  was,  indeed,  a  comely  young  man, 
his  attire  fashionable,  his  form  erect.  Soon 
he  was  on  the  familiar  road  to  Robin's  Inn. 
There  was  now  a  sprinkle  of  yellow  in  the 
green  valley;  wings  of  azure  and  of  gray  in 
the  sunlight ;  a  scatter  of  song  in  the  si 
lence.  High  on  distant  hills,  here  and  there, 
was  a  little  bank  of  snow.  These  few  dusty 
rags  were  all  that  remained  of  the  great 
robe  of  winter.  Men  were  sowing  and  plant 
ing.  In  the  air  was  an  odour  of  the  harrowed 
earth,  and  up  in  the  hills  a  shout  of  greeting 
came  out  of  field  or  garden  as  Trove  went  by. 
39° 


BARREL  391 

It  was  a  walk  to  remember,  and  when  he  had 
come  near  the  far  side  of  Pleasant  Valley  he 
could  see  Polly  waving  her  hand  to  him  at 
the  edge  of  the  maple  grove. 

"  Supper  is  waiting,"  said  she,  merrily,  as 
she  came  to  meet  him.  "  There's  blueberries, 
and  biscuit,  and  lots  of  nice  things." 

"I'm  hungry/'  said  he;  "but  first,  dear,  let 
us  enjoy  love  and  kisses." 

Then  by  the  lonely  road  he  held  her  close 
to  him,  and  each  could  feel  the  heart-beat  of 
the  other;  and  for  quite  a  moment  speech 
would  have  been  most  idle  and  inadequate. 

"  Now  the  promise,  Polly,"  said  he  soon. 
*'  I  go  not  another  step  until  I  have  your 
promise  to  be  my  wife." 

"  You  do  not  think  I'd  let  one  treat  me 
that  way  unless  I  expected  to  marry  him, 
do  you  ? "  said  Polly,  as  she  fussed  with  a  rib 
bon  bow,  her  face  red  with  blushes.  "  You've 
mussed  me  all  up." 

"  I'm  to  be  a  teacher  in  the  big  school,  and 
if  you  were  willing,  we  could  be  married  soon." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  she,  sighing,  and  looking 
up  at  him  with  a  smile;  "I'm  too  happy  to 


392  DARREL 

think."  Then  followed  another  moment  of 
silence,  in  which  the  little  god,  if  he  were 
near  them,  must  have  smiled. 

"  Won't  you  name  the  day  now  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  Oh,  let's  keep  that  for  the  next  chap 
ter  ! "  said  she.  "  Don't  you  know  supper  is 
waiting  ? " 

"  It's  all  like  those  tales  '  to  be  continued 
in  our  next,' "  he  answered  with  a  laugh. 

Then  they  walked  slowly  up  the  long  hill, 
arm  in  arm. 

"How  very  grand  you  look!"  said  she, 
proudly.  "Did  you  see  the  Governor?" 

"Yes,  but  he  can  do  nothing  now.  It's 
the  only  cloud  in  the  sky." 

"Dear  old  man!"  said  Polly.  "We'll  find 
a  way  to  help  him." 

"  But  he  wouldn't  thank  us  for  help  —  there's 
the  truth  of  it,"  said  Trove,  quickly.  "He's 
happy  and  content.  Here  is  a  letter  that  came 
to-day.  '  Dear  Sidney,'  he  writes.  '  Think  of 
all  I  have  said  to  thee,  an',  if  ye  remember  well, 
boy,  it  will  bear  thee  up.  Were  I,  indeed,  as 
ye  believe,  drinking  the  cup  o'  bitterness  for 
thy  sake,  know  ye  not  the  law  will  make  it 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  393 

sweet  for  me  ?  After  all  I  have  said  to  thee, 
are  ye  not  prepared  ?  Is  my  work  wasted ; 
is  the  seed  fallen  upon  the  rocks  ?  And  if  ye 
hold  to  thy  view,  consider  —  would  ye  rob  the 
dark  world  o'  the  light  o'  sacrifice?  "  Nay,"  ye 
will  answer.  Then  I  say :  "  If  ye  would  give 
me  peace,  go  to  thy  work,  boy,  and  cease  to 
waste  thyself  with  worry  and  foolish  wan 
dering."  ' 

"  Somehow  it  puts  me  to  shame,"  said  Trove, 
as  he  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket.  "  I'm  so  far 
beneath  him.  I  shall  obey  and  go  to  work  and 
pray  for  the  speedy  coming  of  God's  justice." 

"  It's  the  only  thing  to  do,"  said  she.  "  Sid 
ney,  I  hope  now  I  have  a  right  to  ask  if  you 
know  who  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  believe  him  to  be  dead." 

"  Dead ! "  there  was  a  note  of  surprise  in 
the  word. 

"  I  know  not  even  his  name." 

"  It  is  all  very  strange,"  said  Polly.  In  a 
moment  she  added,  "  I  hope  you  will  forgive 
my  mother  if  she  seemed  to  doubt  you." 

"  I  forgive  all,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I 
know  it  was  hard  to  believe  me  innocent." 


394  BARREL 

"  And  impossible  to  believe  you  guilty.  She 
was  only  waiting  for  more  light." 

The  widow  and  her  two  boys  came  out  to 
meet  them. 

"  Mother,  behold  this  big  man !  He  is  to 
be  my  husband."  The  girl  looked  up  at  him 
proudly. 

"  And  my  son  ? "  said  Mrs.  Vaughn,  with  a 
smile,  as  she  kissed  him.  "  You've  lost  no 
time." 

"  Oh !  I  didn't  intend  to  give  up  so  soon," 
said  Polly,  "but  —  but  the  supper  would  have 
been  ruined." 

"  It's  now  on  the  table,"  said  Mrs.  Vaughn. 

"  I've  news  for  you,"  said  Polly,  as  they  were 
sitting  down.  "  Tunk  has  reformed." 

"  He  must  have  been  busy,"  said  Trove, 
"  and  he's  ruined  his  epitaph." 

"  His  epitaph  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  one  Barrel  wrote  for  him  :  '  Here 
lies  Tunk.  O  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? '  ' 

"  Tunk  has  one  merit :  he  never  deceived 
any  one  but  himself,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Horses  have  run  away  with  him,"  Trove 
continued.  "  His  character  is  like  a  broken 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  395 

buggy ;  and  his  imagination  —  that's  the  un 
broken  colt.  Every  day,  for  a  long  time,  the 
colt  has  run  away  with  the  wagon,  tipping  it 
over  and  dragging  it  in  the  ditch,  until  every 
bolt  is  loose,  and  every  spoke  rattling,  and 
every  wheel  awry.  I  do  hope  he's  repaired 
his  'ex.'" 

"  He  walks  better  and  complains  less,"  the 
widow  answered. 

"  Often  he  stands  very  straight  and  walks  like 
you,"  said  Polly,  laughing. 

"  He  thinks  you  are  the  only  great  man,"  so 
spoke  the  widow. 

"  Gone  from  one  illusion  to  another,"  said 
Trove.  "  It's  a  lesson ;  every  one  should  go 
softly.  Tom,  will  you  now  describe  the  melan 
choly  feat  of  Theophilus  Thistleton  ?  " 

The  fable  was  quickly  repeated. 

"That  Mr.  Thistleton  was  a  foolish  fellow, 
and  there's  many  like  him,"  said  Trove.  "  He 
had  better  have  been  thrusting  blueberries  into 
his  mouth.  I  declare  !  "  he  added,  sitting  back 
with  a  look  of  surprise,  "  I'm  happy  again." 

"And  we  are  going  to  keep  you  so,"  Polly 
answered  with  decision. 


396  BARREL 

"  Barrel  would  tell  me  that  I  am  at  last 
in  harmony  with  a  great  law  which,  until 
now,  I  have  been  defying.  It  is  true ;  I 
have  thought  too  much  of  my  own  desires." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Polly. 
"  Now,  we  heard  of  the  shot  and  iron  —  how 
you  came  by  them  and  how,  one  night,  you 
threw  them  into  the  river  at  Hillsborough. 
That  led,  perhaps,  to  most  of  your  trouble. 
I'd  like  to  know  what  moral  law  you  were 
breaking  when  you  flung  them  into  the  river?" 

"  A  great  law,"  Trove  answered ;  "  but  one 
hard  to  phrase." 

"  Suppose  you  try." 

"The  innocent  shall  have  no  fear,"  said  he. 
"  Until  then  I  had  kept  the  commandment." 

There  was  a  little  time  of  silence. 

"  If  you  watch  a  coward,  you'll  see  a  most 
unhappy  creature."  It  was  Trove  who  spoke. 
"  Barrel  said  once,  '  A  coward  is  the  prey  of 
all  evil  and  the  mark  of  thunderbolts.' " 

"I'll  not  admit  you're  a  coward,"  were  the 
words  of  Polly. 

"Well,"  said  he,  rising,  "I  had  fear  of  only 
one  thing,  —  that  I  should  lose  your  love." 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  397 

Reaching  home  next  day,  Trove  found  that 
Allen  had  sold  Phyllis.  The  mare  had  been 
shipped  away. 

"  She  brought  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  his 
foster  father,  "and  I'll  divide  the  profit  with 
you." 

The  young  man  was  now  able  to  pay  his 
debt  to  Polly,  but  for  the  first  time  he  had  a 
sense  of  guilt. 

Trove  bought  another  filly  —  a  proud-step 
ping  great-granddaughter  of  old  Justin  Morgan. 

A  rough-furred,  awkward  creature,  of  the  size 
of  a  small  dog,  fled  before  him,  as  he  entered 
the  house  in  Brier  Dale,  and  sought  refuge  under 
a  table.  It  was  a  young  painter  which  Allen 
had  captured  back  in  the  deep  woods,  after 
killing  its  dam.  Soon  it  rushed  across  the 
floor,  chasing  a  ball  of  yarn,  but  quickly  got 
under  cover.  Before  the  end  of  that  day 
Trove  and  the  new  pet  were  done  with  all 
distrust  of  each  other.  The  big  cat  grew  in 
size  and  playful  confidence.  Often  it  stalked 
the  young  man  with  still  foot  and  lashing  tail, 
leaping  stealthily  over  chairs  and,  betimes, 
landing  upon  Trove's  back. 


398  BARREL 

It  was  a  June  day,  and  Trove  was  at  Robin's 
Inn.  A  little  before  noon  Polly  and  he  and  the 
two  boys  started  for  Brier  Dale.  They  waded 
the  flowering  meadows  in  Pleasant  Valley, 
crossed  a  great  pasture,  and  came  under  the 
forest  roof.  Their  feet  were  muffled  in  new 
ferns.  Their  trail  wavered  up  the  side  of  a 
steep  ridge,  and  slanted  off  in  long  loops  to  the 
farther  valley.  There  it  crossed  a  brook  and, 
for  a  mile  or  more,  followed  the  mossy  banks. 
On  a  ledge,  mottled  with  rock  velvet,  by  a 
waterfall,  they  sat  down  to  rest,  and  Polly 
opened  the  dinner  basket.  Somehow  the  music 
and  the  minted  breath  of  the  water  and  the 
scent  of  the  moss  and  the  wild  violet  seemed  to 
flavour  their  meal.  Tom  had  brought  a  small 
gun  with  him,  and,  soon  after  they  resumed 
their  walk,  saw  some  partridges  and  fired  upon 
them.  All  the  birds  flew  save  a  hen  that  stood 
clucking  with  spread  wings.  Coming  close, 
they  could  see  her  eyes  blinking  in  drops  of 
blood.  Trove  put  his  hand  upon  her,  but  she 
only  bent  her  head  a  little  and  spread  her  wings 
the  wider. 

"Tom,"  said  he,  "look  at  this  little  preacher 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  399 

of  the  woods.  Do  you  know  what  she's  say 
ing  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  soberly. 

"  Well,  she's  saying :  '  Look  at  me  and  see 
what  you've  done.  Hereafter,  O  boy !  think 
before  you  pull  the  trigger.'  It's  a  pity,  but  we 
must  finish  the  job." 

As  they  came  out  upon  Brier  Road  the  boys 
found  a  nest  of  hornets.  It  hung  on  a  bough 
above  the  roadway.  Soon  Paul  had  flung  a 
stone  that  broke  the  nest  open.  Hornets  began 
to  buzz  around  them,  and  all  ran  for  refuge  to 
a  thicket  of  young  firs.  In  a  moment  they  could 
hear  a  horse  coming  at  a  slow  trot.  Trove 
peered  through  the  bushes.  He  could  see  Ezra 
Tower — that  man  of  scornful  piety — on  a  white 
horse.  Trove  shouted  a  warning,  but  with  no 
effect.  Suddenly  Tower  broke  his  long  silence, 
and  the  horse  began  to  run.  The  little  party 
made  a  detour,  and  came  again  to  the  road. 

"  He  did  speak  to  the  hornets,"  said  Polly. 

"  Swore,  too,"  said  Paul. 

"Nature  has  her  own  way  with  folly;  you 
can't  hold  your  tongue  when  she  speaks  to 
you,"  Trove  answered. 


400  BARREL 

Near  sunset,  they  came  into  Brier  Dale. 
Tunk  was  to  be  there  at  supper  time,  and  drive 
home  with  Polly  and  her  brothers.  The  widow 
had  told  him  not  to  come  by  the  Brier  Road ;  it 
would  take  him  past  Rickard's  Inn,  where  he 
loved  to  tarry  and  display  horsemanship. 

Mary  Allen  met  them  at  the  door. 

"  Mother,  here  is  my  future  wife,"  said  Trove, 
proudly. 

Then  ruddy  lips  of  youth  touched  the  faded 
cheek  of  the  good  woman. 

"We  shall  be  married  in  September,"  said 
Trove,  tossing  his  hat  in  the  air.  "  We're 
going  to  have  a  grand  time,  and  mind  you, 
mother,  no  more  hard  work  for  you.  Where  is 
Tige  ?  "  Tige  was  the  young  painter. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mary  Allen.  "  He's  up 
in  a  tree  somewhere,  maybe.  Come  in,  all  of 
you;  supper's  ready." 

While  they  were  eating,  Trove  heard  a  sound 
of  wheels,  and  went  to  the  door.  Tunk  had  ar 
rived.  He  had  a  lump,  the  size  of  an  apple,  on 
his  forehead ;  another  on  his  chin.  As  Trove 
approached  him,  he  spat  over  a  front  wheel,  and 
sat  looking  down  sadly. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  401 

"  Tunk,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Kicked,"  said  he,  with  growing  sadness. 

"A  horse  ?"  Trove  inquired,  with  sympathy. 

Tunk  thought  a  moment. 

"  Couldn't  say  what  'twas,"  he  answered  pres 
ently. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Trove,  smiling,  "  that  you  came 
by  the  Brier  Road." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  quick  stir  of  boughs 
and  a  flash  of  tawny  fur  above  them.  Then  the 
young  painter  landed  full  on  the  back  of  Tunk- 
hannock  Hosely.  There  was  a  wild  yell;  the 
horse  leaped  and  ran,  breaking  through  a  fence 
and  wrecking  the  wagon ;  the  painter  spat,  and 
made  for  the  woods,  and  was  seen  no  more  of 
men.  Tunk  had  picked  up  an  axe,  and  climbed 
a  ladder  that  stood  leaning  to  the  roof.  Trove 
and  Allen  caught  the  frightened  horse. 

"  Now,"  said  the  former,  "  let's  try  and  cap 
ture  Tunk." 

"  He's  taken  to  the  roof,"  said  Allen. 

"  Where's  that  air  painter  ? "  Tunk  shouted, 
as  they  came  near. 

"  Gone  to  the  woods." 

"  Heavens  ! "  said  Tunk,  gloomily.    "  I'm  all 


402  DARREL 

tore  up;  there  ain't  nothin'  left  o'  me — boots 
full  o'  blood.  I  tell  ye  this  country's  a  leetle 
too  wild  fer  me." 

He  came  down  the  ladder  slowly,  and  sat  on 
the  step  and  drew  off  his  boots.  There  was  no 
blood  in  them.  Trove  helped  him  remove  his 
coat ;  all,  save  his  imagination,  was  unharmed. 

"Wai,"  said  he,  thoughtfully,  "that's  what 
ye  git  fer  doin'  suthin'  ye  hadn't  ought  to.  I 
ain't  goin'  t'  take  no  more  chances." 


XXXVII 

The  Return  of  Santa  Claus 


D 


ID  ye  hear  the  cock  crow?  By 
the  beard  of  my  father,  I'd 
forgotten  you  and  myself  and 
everything  but  the  story.  It's 
near  morning,  and  I've  a  weary 
tongue.  Another  log  and  one  more  pipe. 
Then,  sir,  then  I'll  let  you  go.  I'm  near  the  end. 
"  Let  me  see  —  it's  a  winter  day  in  New  York 
City,  after  four  years.  The  streets  are  crowded. 
Here  are  men  and  women,  but  I  see  only  the 
horses,  —  you  know,  sir,  how  I  love  them. 
They  go  by  with  heavy  truck  and  cab,  steam 
ing,  straining,  slipping  in  the  deep  snow.  You 
hear  the  song  of  lashes,  the  whack  of  whips, 
and,  now  and  then,  the  shout  of  some  bedevilled 
voice.  Horses  fall,  and  struggle,  and  lie  help 
less,  and  their  drivers  —  well,  if  I  were  to  watch 
them  long,  I  should  be  in  danger  of  madness 
403 


404  DARRKL 

and  hell-fire.  Well,  here  is  a  big  stable.  A 
tall  man  has  halted  by  its  open  door,  and 
addresses  the  manager. 

" '  I  learn  that  you  have  a  bay  mare  with 
starred  face  and  a  white  stocking.'  It  is  Trove 
who  speaks. 

"  '  Yes  ;  there  she  is,  coming  yonder.' 
"  The  mare  is  a  rack  of  bones,  limping,  weary, 
sore.  But  see  her  foot  lift !  You  can't  kill  the 
pride  of  the  Barbary.  She  falters ;  her  driver 
lashes  her  over  the  head.  Trove  is  running 
toward  her.  He  climbs  a  front  wheel,  and  down 
comes  the  driver.  In  a  minute  Trove  has  her 
by  the  bit.  He  calls  her  by  name  —  Phyllis! 
The  slim  ears  begin  to  move.  She  nickers, 
God,  sir !  she  is  trying  to  see  him.  One  eye  is 
bleeding,  the  other  blind.  His  arms  go  round 
her  neck,  sir,  and  he  hides  his  face  in  her  mane. 
That  mare  you  ride  —  she  is  the  granddaughter 
of  Phyllis.  I'd  as  soon  think  of  selling  my  wife. 
Really,  sir,  Barrel  was  right.  God'll  mind  the 
look  of  your  horses." 

So  spake  an  old  man  sitting  in  the  firelight. 
Since  they  sat  down  the  short  hand  of  the  clock 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  405 

had  nearly  circled  the  dial.  There  was  a  little 
pause.  He  did  love  a  horse  —  that  old  man  of 
the  hills. 

11  Trove  went  home  with  the  mare,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  She  recovered  the  sight  of  one  eye, 
and  had  a  box-stall  and  the  brook  pasture  —  you 
know,  that  one  by  the  beech  grove.  He  got 
home  the  day  before  Christmas.  Polly  met  him 
at  the  depot  —  a  charming  lady,  sir,  and  a  child 
of  three  was  with  her, — a  little  girl,  dark  eyes 
and  flaxen,  curly  hair.  You  remember  Beryl  ? 
—  eyes  like  her  mother's. 

"  I  was  there  at  the  depot  that  day.  Well, 
it  looked  as  if  they  were  still  in  their  honey 
moon. 

"  '  Dear  little  wife  !  '  said  Trove,  as  he  kissed 
Polly.  Then  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  and 
I  went  to  dinner  with  them.  They  lived  half  a 
mile  or  so  out  of  Hillsborough. 

"  '  Hello  ! '  said  Trove,  as  we  entered.  'Here's 
a  merry  Christmas  ! ' 

"  Polly  had  trimmed  the  house.  There  against 
the  wall  was  a  tapering  fir-tree,  hung  with  tinsel 
and  popcorn.  All  around  the  room  were  green 
branches  of  holly  and  hemlock. 


406  DARREL 

"  '  I'm  glad  you  found  Phyllis,'  said  she. 

"  '  Poor  Phyllis  !  '  he  answered.  '  They  broke 
her  down  with  hard  work,  and  then  sold  her. 
She'll  be  here  to-morrow.' 

"  '  You  saw  Barrel  on  the  way  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  and  he  is  the  same  miracle  of  hap 
piness.  I  think  he  will  soon  be  free.  Leblanc 
is  there  in  prison  —  convicted  of  a  crime  in 
Whitehall.  As  I  expected,  there  is  a  red 
mark  on  the  back  of  his  left  hand.  Day  after 
to-morrow  we  go  again  to  Dannemora.  Sweet 
heart  !  I  hurried  home  to  see  you.'  And  then 
—  well,  I  do  like  to  see  it  —  the  fondness  of 
young  people. 

"  Night  came,  dark  and  stormy,  with  snow  in 
the  west  wind.  They  were  sitting  there  by  the 
Christmas  tree,  all  bright  with  candles  —  Polly, 
Trove,  and  the  little  child.  They  were  talking 
of  old  times.  They  heard  a  rap  at  the  door. 
Trove  flung  it  open.  He  spoke  a  word  of  sur 
prise.  There  was  the  old  Santa  Claus  of  Cedar 
Hill  —  upon  my  word,  sir  —  the  very  one.  He 
entered,  shaking  his  great  coat,  his  beard  full  of 
snow.  He  let  down  his  sack  there  by  the  lighted 
tree.  He  beckoned  to  the  little  one. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  407 

"'Go  and  see  him  —  it  is  old  Santa  Claus,' 
said  Polly,  her  voice  trembling  as  she  led  the 
child. 

"Then,  quickly,  she  took  the  hand  of  her 
husband. 

"  '  He  is  your  father/  she  whispered. 

"  A  moment  they  stood  with  hearts  full,  look 
ing  at  Santa  Claus  and  the  child.  That  little 
one  had  her  arms  about  a  knee,  and,  dumb  with 
great  wonder,  gazed  up  at  him.  There  was  a 
timid  appeal  in  her  sweet  face. 

"  The  man  did  not  move ;  he  was  looking  down 
at  the  child.  In  a  moment  she  began  to  prattle 
and  tug  at  him.  They  saw  his  knees  bend  a 
bit.  Ah,  sir,  it  seemed  as  if  the  baby  were 
pulling  him  down.  He  gently  pushed  the 
child  away.  They  heard  a  little  cry  —  a  kind 
of  a  wailing  '  Oh-o-o,'  —  like  that  you  hear 
in  the  chimney.  Then,  sir,  down  he  went 
in  his  tracks  —  a  quivering  little  heap,  — 
and  lay  there  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  Polly 
and  Trove  were  bending  over  him.  Cap  and 
wig  had  fallen  from  his  head.  He  was  an  old 
man. 

"  '  Father ! '   Trove   whispered,   touching   the 


408  BARREL 

long  white  hair.  '  O  my  father !  speak  to  me. 
Let  me  —  let  me  see  your  face.' 

"Slowly  —  slowly,  the  old  man  rose,  Trove 
helping  him,  and  put  on  his  cap.  Then,  sir,  he 
took  a  step  back  and  stood  straight  as  a  king. 
He  waved  them  away  with  his  hand. 

" '  Nay,  boy,  remember,'  he  whispered. 
4  Ye  were  to  let  him  pass.'  And  then  he 
started  for  the  door. 

"  Trove  went  betore  him  and  stood  against  it. 

" '  Hear  me,  boy,  'tis  better  that  ye  let  him 
sleep  until  the  trumpet  calls  an'  ye  both  stand 
with  all  the  quick  an'  the  dead.' 

"  '  No,  I  have  waited  long,  and  I  love  —  I  love 
him,'  Trove  answered. 

"  Those  fair  young  people  knelt  beside  the  old 
man,  clinging  to  his  hands. 

"  The  good  saint  was  crying. 

"  *  I  came  not  hero  to  bring  shame,'  said  he 
presently. 

"  '  We  honour  and  with  all  our  souls  we  love 
you,'  Trove  answered. 

"  '  Who  shall  stand  before  it  ? '  said  the  old 
man.  'Behold  —  behold  how  Love  hath  raised 
the  dead ! '  He  flung  off  his  cap  and  beard. 


of  the  BLESSED    ISLES  409 

" '  If  ye  will  have  it  so,  know  ye  that  I  — 
Roderick  Barrel  —  am  thy  father. ": 

"  Now,  sir,  you  may  2:0.  I  wish  ye  merry 
Christmas !  "  said  that  old  man  of  the  hills. 

But  the  other  tarried,  thoughtfully  pufrmg  his 
pipe. 

"  And  the  father  was  not  dead  ?  " 

"  'Twas  only  the  living  death,"  said  the  old 
man,  now  lighting  a  lantern.  "  You  know  that 
grave  in  a  poem  of  Sidney  Trove : 

'It  has  neither  sod  nor  stone; 
It  has  neither  dust  nor  bone.' 

He  planned  to  be  as  one  dead  to  the  world." 

"And  the  other  man  of  mystery  —  who  was 
he  ? " 

"  Some  child  of  misfortune.  He  was  be 
friended  by  the  tinker  and  did  errands  for  him." 

"  He  took  the  money  to  Trove  that  night  the 
latter  slept  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"And,  for  Barrel,  returned  to  Thompson  his 
own  with  usury.  Thompson  was  the  chief 
creditor." 

"With  usury?" 


410  BARREL 

"  Yes ;  for  years  it  lay  under  the  bed  of  Dar- 
rel.  By  and  by  he  put  the  money  in  a  savings 
bank  —  all  but  a  few  dollars." 

"  And  why  did  he  wait  so  long,  before  return 
ing  it?" 

"  He  tried  to  be  rid  of  the  money,  but  was 
unable  to  find  Thompson.  And  Trove,  he  lived 
to  repay  every  creditor.  Ah,  sir,  he  was  a  man 
of  a  thousand." 

"  That  story  of  Barrel's  in  the  little  shop  —  I 
see  —  it  was  fact  in  a  setting  of  fiction." 

"  That's  all  it  pretended  to  be,"  said  the  old 
man  of  the  hills. 

"  One  more  query,"  said  the  other.  He  was 
now  mounted.  "  I  know  Barrel  went  to  prison 
for  the  sake  of  the  boy,  but  did  some  one  set 
him  free?" 

"  His  own  character.  Leblanc  came  to  love 
him  —  like  the  other  prisoners  —  and,  sir,  he 
confessed.  I  declare  !  —  it's  daylight  now  and 
here  I  am  with  the  lantern.  Good-by,  and 
Merry  Christmas ! " 

The  other  rode  away,  slowly,  looking  back  at 
the  dim  glow  of  the  lantern,  which  now,  indeed, 
was  like  a  symbol  of  the  past. 


Eben    Holden 

A  Tale  of  the  North   Country 

By  IRVING  BACHELLER.     Bound  in  ted  silk  cloth, 

decorative  cover,  gilt  top,  rough  edges.    Size,  5x7^. 

Price,  $1.50 

'T'HE  most  popular  book  in  America. 
Within  eight  months  after  publication 
it  had  reached  its  two  hundred  and  fiftieth 
thousand.  The  most  American  of  recent 
novels,  it  has  indeed  been  hailed  as  the 
long  looked  for  "  American  novel." 

William  Dean  Howells  says  of  it :  "  I  have 
read  '  Eben  Holden  '  with  a  great  joy  in 
its  truth  and  freshness.  You  have  got 
into  your  book  a  kind  of  life  not  in 
literature  before,  and  you  have  got  it 
tbr*e  simply  and  frankly.  It  is  cas  pure 
as  water  and  as  good  as  bread.' ' 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman  says  of  it :  "  It  is 
a  forest-scented,  fresh-aired,  bracing,  and 
wholly  American  story  of  country  and 
town  life." 

Lothrop  Publishing  Company  -  -  Boston 


D'RI    AND    I 

By  IRVING  BACHELLER,  author  of  "Efaen  Hotden." 
Seven  drawings  by  F.  C.  Yohn.  Red  silk  cloth,  illus- 
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T^HE  LONDON  TIMES  says :  "  Mr.  Bacheller  is  admirable 
•*•  alike  in  his  scenes  of  peace  and  war.  He  paints  the  silent 
woods  in  the  fall  of  the  year  with  the  rich  golden  glow  of  the 
Indian  summer.  He  is  eloquently  poetical  in  the  lonely  watch 
er's  contemplation  of  thousands  of  twinkling  stars  reflected 
from  the  broad  bosom  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  he  is  grimly 
humorous  in  some  of  his  dramatic  episodes.  Nor  does  any 
thing  in  Crane's  *  Red  Badge  of  Courage '  bring  home  to  us 
more  forcibly  the  horrors  of  war  than  the  between-decks  and 
the  cockpit  of  a  crippled  ship  swept  from  stem  to  stern  by  the 
British  broadsides  in  an  action  brought  h  entrance  on  Lake  Erie." 


CANDLE    LIGHT 

Being  sundry  tales  and  thoughts  in  verse*  By  IRVING 
BACHELLER,  author  of  "Eben  Holden"  and  "D'ri 
and  I*"  Six  illustrations  by  prominent  illustrators.  Deco 
rative  cover,  gilt  top,  rough  edges.  Price,  $J.25,  net. 


TITTR.  BACHELLER'S  Poems  in  a  book  very  handsome  in 
•*•*•*•  the  points  of  typography,  binding,  and  illustration  is  made 
up  of  a  collection  of  verse  ranging  from  dramatic  incidents  of 
peace  and  war  to  lovely  idyllic  pictures  and  verse  read  on  aca 
demic  occasions.  The  whole  collection  is  marked  by  virility, 
simplicity  of  manner,  and  genuine  strength  and  feeling.  It  will 
be  widely  welcomed  by  lovers  of  good  poetry  and  the  admirers 
of  Mr.  Bacheller's  famous  books  of  fiction. 


Lothrop  Publishing  Company  -  -  Boston 


YB  72775 


M15562 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


